There Will Be No Divorce
by fictorium
Summary: A sequel to No Children. Cuddy is pregnant, House is reluctantly undergoing therapy and they're moving along in a sort of undefined relationship. Will that survive when the going gets rough? NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Since 'No Children' was a while ago, and you may not have time to skim 16 chapters all over again, here's a brief recap of where we left our intrepid characters:

Cuddy is pregnant, House is the father. Their relationship is currently undefined, other than spending almost every night together. House's mother died, which was a catalyst for throwing these two together. This was started in the summer, so assume that season 5 hasn't happened (even though I'm terribly glad that it has). House finally agreed to join a Pain Management Program run by the hospital which will provide him with medication management and physical therapy among other things.

Amber is sadly still dead, and Wilson is still grieving. He and Cameron have formed a casual snooping alliance. We pick up from the evening where House and Cuddy's baby news is being broken over dinner with her family.

Whereas 'No Children' was based on the lyrics of one particular song, this new WIP will use lyrics from a few different Mountain Goats songs as chapter headings. I hope you enjoy it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"**Tile floor of the bathroom**

**Scrubbed clean and bright**

**Checkerboard white and grey"**

Mountain Goats – "Have to Explode"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

****

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 1

He was hovering over her, his tall frame casting a long shadow from the bathroom door.

"Are you ever getting up off the floor? You weren't done yelling at me."

Cuddy waved him away with a limp arm, unwilling to be parted from the cool stone floor of her bathroom. After another charming bout of morning sickness, coming as it always had in the evening, she was incapable of doing anything more than pressing her flushed face against the cool marble tiles that made up the floor. She made a mental note to give her cleaning lady a better holiday bonus this year. Even with House leaving debris in his wake, the floor was still spotless enough to serve dinner from.

"You know, this may not just be morning sickness with crappy timekeeping. We have to consider hyperemesis gravidarium. You're approaching 16 weeks and…"

"Shut up, House."

"You have to consider the possibility that…

"Shut up! We've had this conversation. I know a whole lot more about this than you, and my OB-GYN agrees with me. It's unusual, but some women do experience morning sickness after the end of the first trimester. I'm keeping myself hydrated and it's really not excessive. Besides, it's not as frequent now; it'll stop altogether soon."

He sighed huffily, shifting the weight on his good leg slightly.

"I thought it went _very_ well." The words were drowned in sarcasm, and she hated

him for enjoying himself while she felt so crappy.

"Oh yeah, House. You told every offensive lawyer joke you could think of and outed my sister. The very definition of a successful dinner party. Not to mention when you implied that my mother's cooking had given me an eating disorder."

He shrugged with a typical naughty glint in his eye. Cuddy really hated that expressions like that were some of her biggest turn-ons, and with the hormone-palooza going on in her body lately, she didn't need much encouragement. Forcing herself to stay angry with him, she pushed all horny thoughts to the back of her mind. Luckily, House's propensity for being a complete ass solved her problem temporarily.

"I'm totally setting your sister up with Thirteen. Not that she needs much persuading these days."

House moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub, absent-mindedly massaging his thigh as he watched her.

"You'll be lucky if Karen ever speaks to you again." Cuddy spoke quietly, her words little more than a series of groans.

"She's 35 years old. When was she going to get around to telling them that she bats for the other team? Besides, they already knew. Their reaction was way too low-key."

Frustrated by his pop psychology approach to her family, Cuddy attempted to raise herself from the floor, the appeal of a comfortable bed too much to resist. The overwhelming combination of nausea and dizziness left her stuck halfway, and she couldn't help but feel a little grateful when she felt House's arms encircling her waist to help her up.

Unsteady on her feet, they made slow progress out into the bedroom, her additional weight doing House's leg no favors. It did feel good to have a strong body to lean on though, not that she'd ever admit such a weakness aloud.

House deposited her roughly on the edge of the bed, joining her with a wince.

"Still, it must feel pretty good to be the golden child again. I bet they're screaming at each other all the way back to Long Island."

It was probably a ham-fisted attempt at comfort, Cuddy mused. She felt a lot better for being back in comfortable surroundings. The bombsite masquerading as her kitchen could wait until morning. All she felt capable of was getting out of the too-tight dress she had thought would impress her parents. Unfortunately, she spent most of the night hoping her rapidly expanding bust wouldn't pop a seam. Why hadn't she considered little facts like that before getting knocked up? Thirty years of daily exercise being undone in nine months.

She felt obliged to defend her loved ones, after all she was the only one permitted to complain about their… idiosyncrasies.

"We're a reserved family, we don't have big fights."

The snort of disbelief from House caused her eyes to narrow defensively.

"Oh please, when you let them in, I thought we were hosting a Jonas Brothers concert in the hallway! You people make noise like we're in some Turkish village where they have to shout across the valley to each other."

It earned him one of her more vicious glares, and he at least had the decency to look a little intimidated.

"Need I remind you that I'm perfectly capable of killing you and making it look like an accident? Help me out of this dress, would you?"

Predictably, his eyes lit up at the suggestion. If she'd known the only effective incentive for him was to get her naked as often as possible, she'd have taken to doing stripteases in the clinic years ago.

His occasional gentleness still took her by surprise, as he ghosted the small zipper down and eased the straps lightly over her shoulders. Out of habit, she leaned back against his chest and allowed him to hold her.

"You're not helping with the disrobing there, Cuddy."

"Shut up."

It was hard to get used to, House doing what he was told. After a few quiet moment, she allowed him to continue his important quest, slipping naked beneath the sheets when he was done.

Closing her eyes, she waited for him to join her in the bed and was confused when she didn't feel the usual dip in the mattress beside her. She looked up to see him heading for he bedroom door, and called out to stop him.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

He didn't turn to face her, simply shrugged as he turned off the light.

"I'm not tired. See you in the morning."

"You could come keep me warm for a while." It was an effort to sound suggestive, but she tried her best.

"I need to get some stuff from my place. Maybe play some X-Box. See you at work."

Cuddy was already drifting off as he closed the bedroom door. It was only fair he retreat to his own comfort zone after an evening spent in the least House-like way imaginable. The fact that he was limping a little worse than usual flickered briefly through her thoughts, but it dissolved in the face of exhaustion. She remembered nothing else until the sound of the alarm roused her six hours later.


	2. Chapter 2

**There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 2**

**Now you see me.**

**Now you don't.**

**Now you say you love me.**

**Pretty soon you won't.**

House breezed into Wilson's office without knocking. It was almost comforting how some things never seemed to change.

To his credit, Wilson didn't even bother to look up at the intrusion, just carried on amending notes in charts, his left hand in constant motion over the pile of paper.

House threw himself gladly onto the empty sofa, engaging in his favorite game of 'who caves first' and waited impatiently for Wilson to break the silence. When no game-losing breach was forthcoming, House figured that it was worth conceding this time in order to get what he came for.

"Oh Jimmy boy, while you're scribbling like a demented toddler, can you apply some of it to that lovely prescription pad of yours?"

Wilson's patented frown of confusion made its first appearance, and a sudden warmth developed in House's chest area, which surely had to be some form of heartburn. Only an idiot would assume it had anything to do with the overwhelming relief of having a best friend once again.

"You're seriously asking me for Vicodin? After eight months in the program?"

"I'm not slipping. It's just that the current dose doesn't take my uh, new circumstances into account."

Wilson greeted that crappy reasoning with a dry chuckle. House at least used to come up with better, more elaborate excuses. Wounded by Wilson's dismissal, House tried again.

"I was doing okay when it was just me coming home at night and collapsing on the sofa until I fell asleep. These days it's constant servicing of the she-devil, not to mention my no-chores pass expired as soon as she started showing signs of man-juice infection. You know she actually asked me to dry dishes the other morning? I didn't know stupidity was a side effect of pregnancy, but you learn something new every day."

If House was expecting laughter or sympathy, he got neither, merely a deepening furrow on Wilson's forehead.

"You're so proud of yourself for getting her pregnant. Like it's some special kill combo in _Mortal Kombat_.

"Ah, you do know how to bring the classics, I'll give you that."

Wilson stabbed the pen he was holding into the sheet he had been furiously scribbling on. Something was definitely off here, and House couldn't quite work out what.

"You do realize there's going to be a baby? In about five months? You sit there and crack jokes about it, like it doesn't really have anything to do with you."

"Well, she wants to keep it. I wanted to sue Trojan, but what can you do?"

The pen was slammed down this time, the force in Wilson's hand messing up his carefully ordered charts. House braced himself against the sofa cushions, part intrigued and part horrified by the aggressive body language on his usually sanguine buddy.

"God, you're infuriating! How can you throw out this flippant bullshit when you've basically turned your whole life around for her? You're never at home. When you are the phone is unplugged. Yet to hear you, it's like you've changed your laundry detergent, nothing's really different."

House found himself crossing his arms across his chest, completing the look with his best wounded pout.

"Nothing is different!"

"Oh come _on_, House!"

Wilson's voice crept up an octave or so, a sure sign he was genuinely pissed. House regarded his friend suspiciously, realization dawning as Wilson refused to meet his eye.

"You're jealous! You're pissed because I don't spend as much time with you. Hey, I can ask Cuddy if we're allowed a play date…"

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Wilson pushed his chair back from the desk.

"That's not what this is about. Cuddy is my friend too, and I want you to be honest about what's going on with you two. If you hurt her, it won't be just another spat between the Dean and the biggest bastard in the hospital."

"Don't give me that! You're upset over this, even though nothing's gone wrong. You're not worried about Cuddy; you know she can kick my ass from here to Cuba if she wants to. Wait…"

Wilson got up to leave; his patience these days wasn't as elastic as it had been. He managed a grand total of three steps before House's next rejoinder stopped him dead.

"The reason you're angry has nothing to do with protecting the scariest woman in Jersey. You don't think I deserve this. If anyone should have a pregnant girlfriend to make jokes about, it ought to be you. You think this is where you and Amber would have been now, and you're trying to start a fight over it."

House had risen to his feet with some difficulty, an accusing finger jabbing the air in Wilson's general direction.

"That's not what I'm saying! I'll admit it is a little difficult to see you suddenly all settled down. It's not even a year since I lost Amber, and I did think we would get married and have kids. That's only natural when you love someone."

Wilson's voice cracked at the mention of her name; he so rarely said it out loud these days. The wind was well and truly taken out of his sails.

"I don't want to talk about this. If you need an increased dose, ask your own doctor."

House almost growled with sheer frustration. This wasn't how he expected this conversation to go. When he answered, it was with thinly veiled irritation.

"If I ask her, it means we spend weeks rearranging the whole circus. I'll have to jump through 50 different hoops for even one more pill, and hoop-jumping is pretty hard when you're a cripple."

Wilson stood beside his desk, shoulders slumped in apparent defeat as he considered the merits of House's argument.

"Ever think there might be a reason for that? Should they be making it easy for you to slip back into old habits?"

"It's not like it was before, I just need a little extra without all the bitching and paperwork that comes with asking. Just one 'script and I'll ration it out."

Wilson put his hands on his hips, exhaling heavily through pursed lips. Wasn't this exactly how it had started before?

House, for his part, was squirming uncomfortably at even having to ask. He hated that the stupid program hadn't made any major changes, and was sick of hearing how it would take so much longer because of all the years he had neglected his rehab. He especially hated this newfound hypocrisy of everyone around him. They'd been content to enable him when he'd offered no alternative to overdoing it on Vicodin, and now when he made some effort they weren't willing to top that up for him.

"I'm sorry House, but I'm just not going down that road again. If you need it badly enough, you'll grin and bear the extra paperwork or whatever it is you're so scared of. Nothing Ana does to you in therapy can't be worse than the pain you're claiming."

With that, Wilson took his leave, not once looking back. House knew it was because Wilson couldn't trust his own resolve, and that irked House even further.

Leaving the empty office behind, after knocking Wilson's glass of water over his paperwork, House headed back to his own office to think. There was a lot to consider, like whether it was best to manipulate Cameron's long-standing compassion, or play on Kutner's new boy naïveté. A page from Cuddy interrupted his thought process, but he ignored it in favor of formulating a new plan. He wasn't risking that she'd want him to do anything that would ramp up the pain in his thigh another notch, so she was going to have to wait.

When Cuddy arrived at his office door 30 minutes later, he was nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 3

_**On the couch in the living room all day long**_

_**Music on the television playing our song**_

_**And I'm in the mood**_

_**The mood for you**_

The Mountain Goats "Game Shows Touch Our Lives"

Cuddy stepped back and surveyed her gleaming kitchen, the warm glow of satisfaction sweeping over her. Now that the sickness had finally abated, the energy was zipping through her body like a particularly great caffeine buzz. Which she tried not to think about because, _God_, she missed coffee.

Suddenly she was back to her superwoman self, the hours in the day as elastic as the waistbands on her new clothes. How had she survived those weeks of getting next to nothing done? This part of the pregnancy she was actively enjoying, the steadily growing bump being big enough to fascinate but not so much that it was getting in her way.

Her home was practically vibrating to the Aretha Franklin album she'd been blasting out as she cleaned. Cuddy indulged herself by singing along at the top of her lungs, foraging in the fridge for cold water as she did. That was the moment that she heard a deep voice by her ear and shrieked loud enough to shatter glass.

Whirling around in anger at having been frightened half to death, she wasn't surprised to see House standing there wincing.

"You didn't hear me come in, Ms. Franklin?"

"You bastard! I could have gone into early labor! Or at least knocked myself out on the door! Anyway, why are you here? It's supposed to be boys' night at the bowling alley."

His expression clouded over at her words, and all she got was a muttered response about "Not feeling it" before he turned away from her and sought out the comfort of a chair. Her heart rate returned to normal and curiosity piqued, Cuddy slipped across the room in bare feet to stand over him.

"Did somebody have a bad day?"

House refused to meet her eyes, but leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh. She reached out and slipped a hand under the cold leather of his jacket. His bad mood was a mystery to her; she hadn't seen him all day and he wasn't in his office when she had sought him out. This dark and haunted House had become less familiar in the last few months, though she couldn't say he'd been entirely happy.

"Do you need cheering up?"

His head snapped forward and his frown instantly gave way to an extremely interested grin.

"Yes mistress, I'm very, very sad."

She swatted playfully at his head, glad he seemed to be coming around to her way of thinking. Too impatient and too horny for the gentle approach, she grabbed roughly at his shoulders and pulled him into a deep kiss, his mouth opening to her instantly. Without breaking contact, she tugged at him, beseeching him to stand and follow her to a more comfortable setting. He was the one to pull away.

"You realize you smell of cleaning… stuff?"

"Wow, still pretty good at self-sabotage, huh?"

The flash of panic in his eyes was as endearing as it was unnecessary.

"Let me clean myself up a little, meet me in the bedroom."

House stood with customary difficulty, leaning heavily on his cane as he left the room. Cuddy moved briskly to the sink, washing her hands with the far more enticing handwash, removing all traces of bleach from her pale skin.

Making her way to the bedroom, Cuddy stripped off her baggy shirt and shorts as she went. By the time she was able to lean against the bedroom door, she was completely naked and pleased to see that House was already sprawled across her bed in just his boxers. She approached him with her customary confidence, secure in his attraction to her, the straining cotton over his crotch giving him away.

In a matter of seconds, she had her body pressed against his, their lips meeting with a ferocity that still took the breath from her. It didn't seem relevant that their last kiss had been a few short minutes ago. House always kissed her as though years had elapsed, as though this might be his last opportunity, and it turned her on instantly.

When she moved to straddle his hips, she felt his hands grip her ass firmly and push her gently upwards. With an excited "_Oh"_, she accepted his invitation and positioned her legs on either side of his head. Anticipation and kissing had done enough to make her wet, and House's guttural moan as his mouth made contact with her folds told her that it was appreciated. Gripping the headboard tightly, she felt her eyes closing as the sensation of his mouth on her began to drive her slowly insane.

Before too long, her brain was approaching some form of critical mass, each attempt at a thought fragmented by the expert touch of his tongue against her clit. A momentary surge of panic evaporated as he brought her closer to the edge. She remembered the long night of discovering she was pregnant. After the initial shock had been the paralyzing fear that he wouldn't _want_ her this way any more. The memory blasted apart as the telltale pressure kept building, and she twisted slightly, almost scared to give in to the intensity of the orgasm but unable to stop herself.

Nor could she censor the moaning and profanities House was drawing from her with every stroke. Where once she had simply admired his stubbornness, his close-minded devotion to the task at hand, now she positively reveled in it.

Her clit began to twitch furiously and her climax was anything but quiet. It seemed a very long time before the dancing lights left the blackness of her closed eyes, even longer for her breathing to regulate and the jolts of endorphins to stop firing off in every direction. His hands were still firmly gripping her thighs, and as she felt sensation returning to her limbs, he helped her move off him and eased her on to the mattress beside him.

When she had fully recovered, Cuddy made to reciprocate and was shocked when House's hand interrupted her progress across his abdomen.

Sitting bolt upright, she took firm hold of his jaw and forced him to look her in the eye.

"You don't want me to do anything for you? Seemed to me you were in the mood a little while ago."

Panic was coursing through her veins. House refusing sex was probably one of the first signs of the apocalypse. She didn't have a Bible handy, but it seemed momentous enough to make the list.

"Can't a guy go down on a woman without getting the third degree? I don't recall you complaining."

"It's just unlike you to… "

"I can't."

His voice was barely above a whisper and he wouldn't look at her despite their close proximity.

"Bad pain day. Can't seem to concentrate, never mind, well…"

Cuddy understood in an instant, and leant forward to press a kiss to his temple. For him to admit it was a pretty big deal, and it knocked back her wave of insecurity at the same time. It was sweet that he had been so focused on getting her off, despite the fact of his pain. Sure enough, the first pangs of guilt hit her on that realization.

"You're sure a nice burst of endorphins wouldn't help?"

He shook his head firmly, and she could have sworn she saw him blink away a tear. For a moment she was completely overwhelmed with love for him, not that they ever talked about such crazy notions, except for the odd accidental declaration in the heat of the moment. Cuddy resumed her position pressed against his side, pulling the sheets over them for warmth. No sooner had she settled than he was pushing her aside, leaving their bed in search of his clothes and no doubt his Vicodin.

She caught herself referring to it as their bed, mentally amending it to 'her bed'. There had been no discussion of living arrangements, nothing at all since a few days ago when House had mentioned sticking around forever. It was exhausting at times, to feel this deeply and confess almost none of it.

Eventually he came back to bed, a lot more relaxed after his encounter with the pill bottle. Cuddy toyed with mentioning how proud she was of his progress with the reduced dosage, but knew it would probably sound patronizing. Before she could speak however, he opened the conversation.

"Why did you buy a single-story house?"

She'd gotten used to his left-field style of questioning over the years, and experience had taught her it was usually quicker to answer than to wonder why he was asking.

"Because this was the house I liked the best."

Of course, that wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"You moved house a couple of months after the infarction. You don't think it's weird you bought a place without stairs?"

Cuddy sighed into his bicep, sure this was heading somewhere ridiculous.

"Clearly, my crushing guilt meant I had to deny myself the pleasure of a second floor. I've been punishing myself all these years."

He grunted at her sarcasm; clearly he had an idea in his head that wasn't going anywhere soon.

"I just wondered if you were subconsciously picking somewhere that would feel welcoming to me."

"You certainly felt welcome enough to break in every few months."

"Whatever. Anyway, do you think your living room is big enough for a piano?"

Cuddy smiled at the question, it seemed they were moving forward after all.


	4. Chapter 4

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 4

"**Our love has never had a leg to stand on**

**From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils"**

Mountain Goats – Old College Try

Cuddy could feel her will to live slowly ebbing away. She'd tried everything short of smelling salts to maintain her interest in the conversation, but the receiver at her ear continued to spew forth only the most terminally boring words and she could feel her eyes slipping close.

Just as she thought she was going to lapse into a coma, the flash of white outside her office doors signalled a welcome interruption. Wilson stood on the other side of her office doors, a brief wave to announce his presence.

Cuddy motioned for him to come in with all the desperation of a drowning person finally spotting a lifeboat. He entered cautiously, frowning slightly as he heard her lying to the excruciating Mrs. Hayes that Dr. Wilson had just come rushing in with a life-threatening emergency. Shrugging, he took a seat in front of her desk and waited patiently as she finally negotiated an ending to the telephone call from hell.

"Another complaint?"

She shook her head, and felt her left hand drifting to her stomach out of habit. She drummed a disjointed rhythm with her fingers, something House had been doing over the past couple of weeks, only with rhythm in his case. He claimed it was never too early to teach offspring how to rock, one of his many child-rearing pronouncements that left her wondering if he'd ever actually encountered a baby before.

Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drawing her attention back to him.

"What brings you here, Dr. Wilson?"

She asked formally, but saw him responding to the smile she couldn't seem to keep off her face lately.

"I just wanted to, uh, that is well I… just wanted to see how you were doing?"

His stumbling attempt at a question triggered her suspicious side, but she answered evenly.

"I'm good. Nowhere near as exhausted, and I can make it down a corridor without dashing to the restroom every ten yards."

"Well you look good. And the baby?"

Cuddy was glad of a chance to hold forth on her new favorite topic. Her parents would only fuss over her health; her sister couldn't feign interest very convincingly, and House simply teased her about getting fat most of the time. Wilson was the only other person who knew, though the curious glances she'd been getting over the past few weeks meant that probably wouldn't be the case for long.

So she regaled him with all the pleasing facts she had at her disposal, confessing that she was a little desperate to feel the baby's first movements now that she was past 16 weeks; it was usually earlier in women with slim frames. Cuddy noticed Wilson's eyes begin to glaze over when she started on plans for the nursery, and she remembered that he really only had patience for the girly crap when he was after something. When she did stop, with an apologetic smile, Wilson jumped in like he was worried he would miss his chance.

"And House? How are things with him?"

"You probably know as much as I do. He tells you everything."

Cuddy still couldn't bring herself to discuss the 'relationship' she had with House. The previous night he'd brought up the topic of moving in with her, in his own oblique way. Beyond that, she wasn't sure how to define it. She knew she was in love with him, but didn't dare expect that he'd ever feel the same in return. So many good things had been sabotaged by her need to define, to push things beyond their natural limits. With House, she was happy to just be with him; perhaps the impending motherhood was keeping her too busy to question it.

"He did come to talk to me yesterday, actually. You'll be pleased to know he has at least three disgusting new euphemisms for pregnancy."

Cuddy laughed at that, given that most of them had been tried out on her until she rolled her eyes so hard she was concerned they would get stuck that way.

"Yes, he does seem bizarrely proud of himself. I'm surprised how okay he's been with it all, actually. I could live without the fat jokes and _Alien_ references though."

Wilson was fussing with his tie, a sure sign that he had something on his conscience. Oh, great, what had House said to him now?

"He uh, said he's having some pain problems. Reckons the program is too hard on him, regulating his medication too much."

Cuddy cocked an eyebrow at the revelation. She had of course noticed the struggle House was having without his constant stream of Vicodin, but he hadn't actually complained about the cause of it. He simply went to his physio appointments with his usual grumpy demeanor and seemed especially grateful when he did take his reduced amounts of Vicodin at regular intervals.

"He has been suffering lately, but he's always in pain. It should get more manageable though, it's already better than it was."

"Cuddy, he uh…. He asked me to write him a prescription. He wants more Vicodin than he's getting."

There was no mistaking the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Cuddy felt the tears, so easy to come by these days, welling up as she considered what Wilson had just confessed. Although she'd warned herself not to build up expectations, she had gotten used to the idea of House getting better, of not being so reliant on narcotics. It hadn't been a condition for them being together, nor had she made it one for him being in their child's life. He had been the one to start this, to continue for eight long and hard months.

"The pain is really bad, Wilson. Part of the reason he resisted this sort of treatment in the past is that they treat for what your pain level should be, rather than what it is. Maybe he just can't take it anymore."

Old habits really did die hard. There she was covering for him again.

"That may be true, Cuddy, but it sounds a lot like how all this started before. He could be undoing all the work he's put in so far."

Wilson stood and came round the desk to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Cuddy shrugged it off, not wanting the contact.

"I'll talk to him. There might be something else we can try, ask Dr. Ramirez if there's any adjustment that can be made to his treatment plan."

Wilson nodded and made his way cautiously out of her office, waiting for her to call him back and demand a shoulder to cry on. When he had cleared the clinic exit, Cuddy made a swift dash for her bathroom and allowed the tears to come.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

House took up his usual inconvenient post just in front of the ER admissions desk. Cameron couldn't help but notice him there, and once she noticed him, she would make a beeline for him like she always did.

It took only three minutes to prove himself right. Hardly a personal best, but it amused him all the same. He summoned his best hangdog expression as Cameron approached with her customary sunshine and rainbows greeting. Ignoring her questions, he ploughed straight ahead with his own agenda.

"Need a consult. You're the best crappy doctor I know, so can you find us a quiet little room?"

Cameron began to protest, but he could see for himself that the ER was enjoying one of its irregular lulls in patient traffic. The staff were collectively catching their breath before the next accident or fight came rolling up to the doors. With a sigh, she marched off in the direction of her office and jerked her head slightly to indicate that he should follow.

He'd been meaning to break into her office and snoop for a while now, but with the irritating newbies and the medically necessary trips to the ER, the chance hadn't yet presented itself. House had to confess that he hadn't expected the bleak and businesslike tone of the place, all neat filing and clear, empty surfaces. He's always seen Cameron as being more the family photographs and cuddly toy souvenirs type. Her fingers tapping impatiently on her desk brought him back to why he was there in the first place.

"I need you to write me a prescription."

"For what?"

He rolled his eyes, sighing heavily at the stupidity of the question.

"Contraceptive pills. What do you _think_ I need a prescription for?"

Cameron leaned back in her chair, fingers clasped primly across her abdomen.

"You're not seriously here asking me for Vicodin?"

House nodded, trying to play the whole situation down.

"I've been having too much exertion lately, and the stupid program has me on a minimal dose that just about covers half a day of laying in bed."

"Your dosage is just fine. Lower than the insane amounts you were taking when I worked for you, but enough to cover daily activities."

House pointed an accusing finger at his former employee.

"How do you know what my dosage is or isn't?"

Cameron squirmed uncomfortably at his question, but still managed to meet his glare.

"You think you're the only one who can breach the computer system? I was curious; I wanted to see how you were doing. I also noticed that Dr. Cuddy is listed as your emergency contact person."

The undertone of accusation sent him into a tailspin of panic. Cuddy had insisted they be discreet around the hospital; only Wilson and their families were aware of anything going on between them. She was going to be thoroughly pissed if Cameron dropped them into the gossip mill before Cuddy felt like telling people.

"She's a friend, it's not like there were many other people I could put on there."

Cameron was clearly unsatisfied with his response.

"Well, as her friend, you might want to tell her to lay off the junk food. She's certainly been putting on a little bit of weight lately."

He gripped his cane handle so tightly at that comment that he was concerned it would snap.

It was one thing for people to gossip about him sleeping with Cuddy. After all, those rumors had been doing the rounds for years. But father of the baby was an elevation in status that would keep the gossip hounds baying for blood for months. Not to mention that he wasn't wild about everyone knowing he was going to be a father, he hadn't entirely adjusted to the freaky notion himself.

"Well, she always did have a gigantic ass. Maybe her metabolism is letting the rest of her body keep up."

Their eyes locked in a stalemate of non-admission. He wouldn't be the one to confirm anything, and damn Cameron for having learned something about observing humans in those three years she'd worked for him. As the air in the room began to reverberate with the tension of stubbornness, Cameron finally conceded by looking away.

"Relax, House. I think it's great that you finally let someone into your life. I know you're not going to admit anything, but there won't be any gossip coming from me."

He stood to leave, embarrassed and angry. As he turned towards the door, he heard a sheet of paper being torn from a pad.

"Here, take it. If nothing else, I'm glad you still felt you could come to me. Sometimes one woman can't give you everything you need."

The flirtatious tone in her voice sent alarm bells ringing, and House wanted to yell at her that Cuddy was more than enough for him, that he wouldn't want to put her in the position of prescribing for him. But the sad truth of it was that he wanted the drugs more than he wanted to defend Cuddy's honor. He wanted to not be hurting like this any more, get back a little of the oblivion he had been so used to.

He muttered what could plausibly have been a "thank you" and stepped out into the hallway, glad to be free of the office's confinement.

It was only a few minutes' walk to the pharmacy on the ground floor, but he opted for the smaller one on the third floor, not wanting to risk entering Cuddy's domain. As he made his slow progress along the corridors and waited impatiently in the elevator, he maintained his mantra that he needed these drugs; that the pain was too much to handle.

Ten steps away from the pharmacy counter, he thought of Cuddy and the beaming smile she'd given him after telling him about her pregnancy. He thought in the same moment of his mother on her deathbed and his legs almost gave way at the engulfing sadness.

There was a reason he'd stopped popping these damn pills like Tic-Tacs, in fact there was more than one good reason. It was his unspoken promise to Cuddy, when he'd held her hair back on her first bout of morning sickness. Though it had hurt to crouch there with her, he had stayed; afterwards medicating with only the rations that Dr. Ramirez had allowed him.

He considered all of that, all the promises he'd made and vowed that he wouldn't break this time. House weighed the expectations of the few people he loved like against the pounding, stretching ache in his right thigh.

With a sigh, he took a step forward.

And then another one.


	5. Chapter 5

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 5

**'cause you just can't do**

**things your body wasn't meant to.**

**hike up your fishnets.**

**I know you.**

The Mountain Goats "Dilaudid"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An hour. One fucking hour and he'd be free of this stupid place with its pastel colors and overly soft furnishings. If Cuddy had spent millions on making the hospital look like one giant hotel lobby, the Physiotherapy department had blown their allowance on a marshmallow factory. Everything he attempted to sit on swallowed him up like a vat of quicksand, but he was forced to suffer it in order to take the weight off his protesting leg. Although at least being swallowed by a cushion would get him out of his pointless progress meeting.

He was being made to wait, a punishment for his tardiness. The little chemical detour had cost him valuable minutes, and now he couldn't even risk taking one of his ill-gotten gains because Ramirez would bust him for being high before she had scheduled it. This whole mess was getting pretty tedious, and House couldn't quite remember why he was sitting there like a naughty schoolboy when he could have been in his office popping pills washed down with some perfectly generic Scotch.

The clicking of heels against hard floor brought his internal ranting to an abrupt halt, but he was disappointed to discover that not every pair of sexy but impractical shoes came with Cuddy attached. It did serve as yet another slap in the face about why he was doing this. He really didn't want to lose Cuddy because the drugs were more important, but he didn't want to have to choose either. She'd argue that she'd never asked him to stop, that she'd accepted him as he was, but the implication was always there.

How could he be a father if he couldn't get out of bed without a serious dose of opiates? For that matter, how could he be a father when he couldn't run or play catch? What if it was a girl and he had to go around kicking the asses of any teenage boys who eventually hit on her?

But wasn't that the crux of the whole damn thing – to find a way of doing that shit, he had to still be alive. Which pretty much ruled out downing little white saviors until his liver went on vacation without him.

On that note, the portal to hell finally swung open and five feet of barely contained fury was glaring directly at him. It seemed that Ramirez was more than ready for him, and House just didn't feel he had the fight in him today.

With as much dignity as he could muster, he leveraged himself out of the ridiculous fabric pile and made his way grudgingly to her office. When the door closed behind him, he was overcome with a strong desire to run, agonizing pain and weak muscles be damned.

He sank gratefully into a rather more sensible chair, watching warily as Ramirez took her place on her side of the desk. House rued not insisting these meetings be held in his office, nothing like a home court advantage. It could have been one of the few times that being a Department Head with all the trappings might have come in useful. Instead here he was in a room that was essentially a glorified cubicle, yet still feeling like a naughty schoolboy summoned to the principal's office.

Her opening shot was gentle, entirely at odds with the wiry tension radiating off her.

"Greg, you're slipping. Your progress should be picking up by now and you're slacking off."

"Don't Greg me, that over-familiar crap has less effect than you think. Much like your stupid program."

Ana didn't flinch at his petulance, simply squared her shoulders and continued her lecture.

"If you don't do the right amount of exercise at the right times, the muscles won't develop in the way they're meant to. Obsessing over your next dose isn't going to make the time between pills go any faster either. I think we should discuss replacing the Vicodin altogether, not just reducing it. There are other pain medications…"

He snorted with every ounce of derision he could summon.

"There are other legs. There are other pain levels. There are other patients."

She pretended to consider his argument.

"So you think you're entitled to special treatment? That you're somehow the exception to one of the most successful protocols ever developed in this field? I think we've had this argument before. In fact, we've had it every time I reduced your dose in the past few months. Coincidence?"

God, he hated people who paid attention to every little detail. It was almost like arguing with himself.

"Oh, I don't know what you've heard about me, Doctor, but I'm a big believer in coincidences. Happen all the time: explain everything. Love 'em."

Ramirez crossed her arms slowly and deliberately, leaning forward over her immaculate desk. House was momentarily distracted by the possibility of cleavage, but apparently some staff in this hospital wore their necklines above the navel. He hadn't been able to rattle this one with his innuendo yet, but he was sure the day would come. It was hardly a stretch to come up with material, she was slim and fit, with the kind of long glossy hair he rarely saw outside of _Sports Illustrated _shoots. Her lips had been a distraction in their own right for a while, but most irritating of all was that all these facts seemed academic, because every time his mind veered in the direction of sex, it went straight back to Cuddy.

Which was absolutely fine so long as nobody ever found out. It was one thing to be getting it on with arguably the finest woman in the hospital, but quite another to have people thinking he was taking it seriously. This baby thing was going to upset the appearance of nonchalance too, and the panic about it all left him grasping desperately at the little orange bottle stashed in his jacket pocket. It was pathetic, but his clammy hand gripping the extra Vicodin instantly calmed him.

The only problem was that he'd zoned out of his reprimand, and now he had no idea what response Ramirez expected from him. He attempted to bluff, but it fell flat.

"Now you don't even listen, what a fantastic development! As I was saying, Dr Wilson came to me with some concerns about your pain levels. I've considered his point, but I honestly don't think an increase at this stage is going to help. Unless you want to try another method."

"I don't. Some Vicodin is better than none. Are we done here? I promise to be _such_ a good boy from now on, you won't even recognize me."

His puppy-dog eyes had pretty much zero effect, much to his annoyance. At least Wilson's interference explained the simmering rage in his doctor, she didn't take kindly to outside advice.

"I'll believe it when I see it. You know what's required of you, and if you can't keep up, I will throw you out on your ass. No more free massages from hot therapists for you, Dr House."

He winced at the cruelty of her threat, but nodded in agreement of her terms. All he wanted was to get out of there, far away from the snooping eyes of her staff. It was all he could do not to scream with relief when she finally dismissed him, and he could barely keep the urgency from his movements as he sought out the sanctuary of his fourth floor office.

Not that he could wait that long. Seeing no familiar faces in the elevator, he popped the seal on the bottle and dry-swallowed three pills with something approaching desperation. Leaning against the wall, having elbowed an elderly lady out of his way, he closed his eyes and waited for their glorious narcotic effect to kick in.

He remained in the elevator as it made two complete trips up and down, feeling just a little bit high for the first time in too long. Eventually he came to his senses and got off on the appropriate floor, almost with a spring in his limp. It soon faded when he saw Wilson waiting in his office, and House was almost frantic at the thought that he would be found out so quickly.

"You look like hell."

A simple statement of fact from Wilson, their friendship had never stood on ceremony.

"Session with the dragon lady. The physiotherapist one, not the Dean of Medicine one."

Wilson nodded sympathetically and launched into an explanation of how he had gone to Ramirez in order to help House out.

"Well, a fat lot of good it did me. Not only did she refuse to up my dose, but now she's punishing me because she doesn't like well-meaning oncologists screwing with her reign of terror."

Hands raised in a 'who me?' gesture, Wilson blustered his way to a defense. House had little patience for it, even with the edge well and truly taken off. He grabbed his car keys and backpack, making haste towards his office door.

"Tell Cuddy I went home."

"Should I bring over some beers? The Giants are playing tonight."

"Uh, I meant her home. Maybe another time, Jimmy boy."

With that, House skulked out of the room and back to the elevator he had so recently vacated. Wilson stood in the darkened office and quietly marveled at House's slip of the tongue. Home meaning Cuddy's was a development he hadn't seen coming, not after fifteen years of the same book-lined apartment being House's sacred retreat. It almost made him feel bad for stirring the pot with Cuddy that morning.


	6. Chapter 6

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 6

'**The stage is set**

**Someone's going to do something someone else will regret**

**I speak in smoke signals and you answer in code**

**The fuse will have to run out sometime**

**Something here will eventually have to explode"**

"_Have To Explode", _The Mountain Goats

Cuddy arrived home, tired and stressed, to what she had assumed was an empty house. It was certainly a reasonable assumption, since not a single light was on. She dropped her purse and briefcase by the door, kicking off the heels that were becoming a little too dramatic for her slightly swollen ankles and hanging her coat as she reflexively checked the answering machine's blinking light. No calls; no change there.

Without the need for a light, she padded barefoot into her living room, the sharp blue glare of the stereo's display catching her attention instantly. The dim light from the street weakly shining through her curtains illuminated the distinctive lanky form of House dripping off the couch. A step closer to investigate revealed the headphones that were connecting him to his least harmful passion, and she felt a fresh surge of love for him as she watched the half-smile forming on his face. He was clearly listening to something he loved.

Of course, he had to spoil the moment somehow.

"You know, it's a little creepy to just stare at someone, Cuddy. I feel violated."

She turned to leave with a dismissive wave of her hand, but before she could take a step, his hand was on her knee, fingers stroking gently on bare skin.

"Not so fast, woman. I've been patiently waiting for you to stop assaulting innocent pieces of paper and come home to me."

"Come home to you? You're June Cleaver all of a sudden? If you were so bored you could have whiled away those long, lonely hours charting."

"Aha! You broke the work talk rule. Ten bucks to me, please."

"I'll write you a check."

His fingers began to make subtle progress north, a seemingly innocent expansion of their route to include her thigh.

"If you find a way to distract me, I'll let the charges slide."

"Are you suggesting I pimp myself to avoid paying a ten-dollar fine?"

She could see his face more clearly now, her eyes fully adjusted to the near darkness. He was looking at her in the way that made her feel perilously close to melting. It was still breathtaking to be the centre of that intense attention.

"Or you could just have sex with me for the hell of it. That way I still get the money, so even better."

Cuddy had to agree with his thinking and moved carefully on top of him, shifting her weight away from his bad leg, but he managed to make room for her without pressing on her bump.

Face to face for the first time that day, Cuddy let her forehead press against his, the stresses of the day evaporating at least temporarily. The quiet moment didn't last, House with an idea in his head was like a force of nature, and before she could gather her thoughts, he was kissing her.

It irritated her to be so girly about the whole thing, but she really did love kissing. Although it was what she missed most in her many periods of being single, kissing House was another experience altogether. Too often lately she had found herself distracted by the thought of it, hoping every knock on her office door was him so that they could steal a few kisses. All too frequently disappointed as well. He still managed to avoid her pretty successfully within the hospital, his concession to maintaining normalcy between them.

Tonight was apparently not about gentle exploration. His kisses started out passionate and upgraded quickly to fierce, leaving it hard for her to breathe and even harder to think straight.

The last remaining scraps of doubt about his agenda scattered as he took her hand in his, their fingers intertwining out of habit. Having squeezed her hand possessively, he then guided it to his crotch, a soft growl forming in his throat as she rubbed against his hard-on through the faded denim.

She tried to talk to him, dodging his kisses as often as she allowed herself to get caught up in them. Cuddy was quite sure she had wanted to discuss something important, but damn she was horny and he felt incredibly good pressed up against her. Why fight it?

"House, God, House. Stop for a second. _Oh_…"

"Stop talking and fuck me, Cuddy."

"Uh-huh."

Hardly eloquent, but she liked it when he talked to her that way, all raw need and taking charge. It was such a relief to not always have to be in charge.

With that she felt her skirt being yanked down roughly over her hips, her blouse pulled open with at least one button becoming a casualty. His hands--those beautiful hands that she placed so much trust in every day--were all over her skin, every inch of her reacting to his touch, unable to restrain herself.

"Not here, House."

Talking was easier for her when his mouth was occupied with kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck.

With an exasperated sigh, he nudged her to stand and she complied. He got off the couch with minimal difficulty, pulling his t-shirt frantically over his head and abandoning it on the floor.

Cuddy stood there, disheveled and grinning at his enthusiasm, but he responded by smacking her lightly on the ass and gesturing towards the bedroom. Progress was slow, since every couple of steps was punctuated by another kiss, House pressing her against the wall to ease the strain on his leg and let his hands run over her again. By the time they reached the bedroom, underwear and House's jeans were strewn across the hardwood floor.

She crawled on to the bed, but before she could make any decision about position, the idea of her on her hands and knees had clearly caught House's attention. Cuddy felt his hands taking hold of her hips as he knelt behind her on the mattress. Kneeling worked well for him, took the strain off his thighs and allowed him to do pretty much whatever he wanted to. That was a plan Cuddy could certainly go along with.

He leaned forward to press a few errant kisses over the sensitive skin of her back, the fingers of his right hand slipping around to seek out her already sensitive clit. The frantic making out and groping already had her wet and his fingers felt fantastic as they made contact. Once he had her moaning, he let one finger and then two push inside her, seeking out her G-spot with devastating precision. House kept the pressure light, teasing her even as she felt the urgency of his erection pressed against her thigh.

Her hips were thrusting back gently, intent on intensifying the contact. House's free hand came down sharply on her ass, causing Cuddy to bite down on her bottom lip at the jolt it sent through her, a twisting wave of pain mixed with pleasure. She'd always liked it just a little bit rough, and House being the observant son of a bitch that he was had picked up on it instantly.

He teased her a little longer with his fingers, alternating between almost tender circling of her clit and slow thrusts that left her craving more. His own impatience won out quicker than normal, and Cuddy could have cried with relief when she felt the exquisite pressure of his cock slipping inside her, stretching her in just the right way.

It didn't take long for them to pick up the pace, his thrusts met by fervent bucking of her hips, willing him to fuck her as hard and as deep as he could. The angle was perfection, her muscles tightening as she surrendered to the oncoming orgasm, feeling him follow her over the edge seconds later.

When she had caught her breath, Cuddy extricated herself from the mess of limbs and sheets that they had collapsed into, making a quick dash to the bathroom to clean up. As quickly as she could, she made her way back to the bed with a warm washcloth for House. He managed to arrange him body into a more comfortable position, making good use of her countless pillows. Although it was wonderful to seem him all post-sex rumpled in their bed, Cuddy knew she wouldn't be able to relax into the cuddling if she didn't take care of one little task first.

"I'm just going to pick up the clothes. I can't sleep knowing there's mess all over the place."

"Anal retentive."

"Slob."

"When I live here full-time, there's gonna be some relaxing of the cleaning rules, or I won't survive until Hanukkah."

Cuddy's heart did that irritating little flip-flop that she liked to blame on heartburn, but there was little use in denying that it was anything other than a reaction to House's words. He was committing to her. Even with all the scary, out of-their-depth shenanigans that the world had thrown at them recently, he was still there and being the man she'd always told him he could be. Feeling the pathetic surge of tears careening towards her eyeballs, she beat a hasty retreat from the bed.

"Although, if all housework is done naked you might be able to persuade me to supervise you."

His voice echoed strangely as she set off down the hallway in pursuit of their discarded clothes.

When she picked up House's jacket, the customary gentle rattle signified the presence of a pill bottle. But hadn't he just taken a Vicodin from the nightstand?

A sudden cold fear took hold of Cuddy, her conversation with Wilson that morning coming flooding back to her. She had intended to broach the subject as soon as she saw House, but the need for hot, dirty sex had drowned out all rational thought the second she laid eyes on him.

Silence from the bedroom.

If he had heard the rattle too, he must be lying there holding his breath, praying I don't work it out, she thought to herself. With a sinking feeling, she reached inside the pocket of his jacket, her fingers at first only making contact with crumpled pieces of paper and what felt a lot like a child's bouncy ball. All too quickly her fingertips brushed a familiar texture and she slowly pulled out the bottle to examine in the dim light of her hallway.

Though she'd been expecting the Vicodin, though she knew it wasn't the end of the world for him to be supplementing his dose, she still felt it like a punch to the gut when she saw the name of the prescribing doctor.

_A. Cameron_

Going to Wilson was to be expected; that was the logical order of their lives. In their strange lopsided way, they eventually shared everything between the three of them, a network of gossip and confidences that kept them all sane. Going to Cameron, of all people, was something else entirely. It didn't take a psychic to see the way she still looked at House, to see quite plainly that the crush on her former boss was far from over. Not to mention the frequently adversarial relationship she'd had with Cuddy over the years, a passive-aggressive battle of wills over who had House's best intentions at heart.

It might sound petty, but damn, Cuddy had been so sure she'd won this one. The pointed glances from Cameron in the direction of Cuddy's midriff left her in little doubt that her secret had been guessed. Now she had to wonder if House had confided in his little protégé. What had been Cameron's price for prescribing drugs, something she hadn't done even at the height of her infatuation with House?

It was jealousy, simply the green-eyed monster roaring in her head, and the rational part of Cuddy's brain knew she had turned a simple favor into a massive plot. Unfortunately the rational part of her brain was being dunked in a vat of hormonal insanity like churros in hot chocolate, and there was nothing she could do to quell the panic and anger that came flooding over her.

Stomping back to the bedroom, pills in hand, she sat gingerly on the end of the bed. Reaching for a sheet to cover herself, she threw the bottle at her reclining lover.

"House, I think we need to talk."


	7. Chapter 7

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 7

"**I've got you**

**You've got whatever's left of me to get**

**Our conversations are like minefields**

**No one's found a safe way through one yet."**

_Southwood Plantation Road, _The Mountain Goats

It would be so easy to apologize.

The smart thing to do would be to tell her just why he needed the extra Vicodin, to explain clearly and explicitly how much pain he was in. Cuddy had always been sympathetic in the past. In fact, she continued to believe in him even after Wilson had given up.

She was watching him from the opposite corner of the bed, the expanse of cream-colored sheets between them stretching out like no-man's-land. The bottle of medication lay like an abandoned landmine. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the cotton around her naked body, a sure sign that this was no throwaway pillow talk to her.

House felt cornered, the taste of adrenaline tinny under his tongue. This was one of those 'boyfriend' situations he'd been successfully avoiding since Stacy left. It was bad enough he constantly disappointed himself and his parents when they were around. Though he let Cuddy down when it came to discipline at work, that was always a calculated risk on both their parts. This was different - and far too much drama for his liking.

"House? What's going on?"

The note of irritation in her voice got his hackles up, even as he attempted to tell himself to stay calm and just laugh the whole thing off.

"The pain isn't manageable; it isn't being managed. I'm barely sleeping, not to mention that servicing your every sexual whim is putting some additional strain on the old muscles. So I decided to treat myself to a little top-up. Being able to actually get up in the morning is a bonus."

Her expression was so sad as she took in his explanation that he felt a dull ache in his chest. Cuddy had heard all of this before.

"You've been doing so _well_."

It was part plea, part accusation. He knew the defenses she had built up over the years, for her to trust him enough to have sex with him in the first place was pretty monumental. To believe that he would change, that he could get better was tantamount to asking her to finally give in to that stupid, naïve side of her that she had tried so hard to ignore.

"It isn't working, I'm not sure it ever was. I hurt more than ever, and I'm less able to cope with it."

He'd always been able to sound so reasonable, so plausible. It was why he'd gotten away with excessive behavior for so long: crippling agony was pretty hard to argue with. Unfortunately he was up against one of the best verbal combatants he'd ever encountered, and Cuddy wouldn't be swayed by a little pity party.

"Oh _bullshit_."

That stunned him. He hadn't expected such venom from her.

Swallowing nervously, House hugged the pillow reflexively, a worthless defense against someone quite so fierce as Cuddy. His skin felt cool and clammy, almost uncomfortable as he awaited her shot.

"You got bored. Or it's too hard, and you don't want to try anymore. But don't blame this on the program. It's the best in the country."

He couldn't help but snort at her arrogance. It was okay for him to suffer, but not to blame her precious hospital for it.

"Oh for God's sake, you're not writing a brochure! Do you remember med school at all? No treatment has a 100% success rate, not even the ones handpicked by the great Lisa Cuddy."

She pulled the sheet tighter around her, frown deepening as she considered his excuse. Knowing that rationalization wasn't exactly his friend here, he continued before Cuddy could start arguing statistics. He looked past her to the carefully arranged trinkets on her dressing table, suddenly fascinated by the arrangement of her sparse photos and ornaments.

"Besides, this isn't about a little extra pain medication. This is about the same two things that have always been your problem: your unrealistic expectations, and your pathological need to control everything around you."

That did it. He may as well have slapped her. If he squinted in the soft light of the bedroom, the flush that had risen in her cheeks almost looked like the marks left by an errant hand. House hadn't checked recently, but it might well be that he did in fact have a death wish.

"This is not about me. This is about what it's always about: you refusing to try. Don't you dare try and blame our sex life for your addiction problems. I deserve better."

She let the sheet pool around her waist, her hands liberated to join the argument. Cuddy always talked with her hands, especially when she was particularly worked up. It was one of his favorite things, and part of the reason he provoked her into debates so often. Gathering steam, she ploughed on.

"I never expected anything of you, I never asked you to change. You did all of it, voluntarily."

Although he knew that she wasn't the reason he'd signed up, or at least not the only reason, House had no intention of letting Cuddy off the hook that easily. Being wrong had never stopped him fighting his corner before.

"You pushed me for years; I just decided to give in eventually."

Cuddy ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, and House couldn't help but admire the additional perkiness that it suddenly gave to her breasts. It was verging on annoying that he still had the hots for her so badly. Surely the novelty should have worn off by now. If she sensed his appreciation, it made no difference to her stance.

"Again, bullshit."

The night that had seemed so promising turned to crap pretty quickly. He'd had music, sex and finally enough pills to take the edge off, and now he had a tension headache and a cranky pregnant woman who looked perilously close to throttling him. The fire he currently saw in her eyes had been such a positive thing these past few months, although their workday squabbling had continued without interruption. That passion had become a force for good in their personal lives, and House was beginning to rue the moment he'd chosen to poke the bear.

"God, I have done everything I can think of to make this easy on you. I didn't tell you I was pregnant right away because I knew you would flip. When I did tell you, I gave you a get-out-of-jail-free card and told you that I wasn't pressuring you to get involved."

House flashed instantly on that night three months ago, the discarded First Response box in the trash tipping him off long before Cuddy could work up the courage to break the news. The feeling of his stomach trying to bounce off his kneecaps might have been physically impossible, but he could feel it all over again just by thinking about that moment.

"You didn't have to pressure me. That little speech about how it may be unexpected but you _truly believed_ I'd make a great father and have a chance to undo my own dad's mistakes was like putting a gun to my temple."

In truth, she'd convinced him with that argument. Not that he hadn't joked around—demanded a paternity test and staged a call to the FBI about a possible alien impregnation—but from about two minutes after the news sank in, he'd had no notion of skipping out on Cuddy and the strange phenomenon of his kid.

"You've never had a problem saying no to me in the past."

"Saying no in the first place would have avoided this whole mess. Besides, this is different. I may be a jerk but I wouldn't knock someone up and run for the hills. I think I deserve a little more credit than that."

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile twitch at Cuddy's lips, but nothing came of it.

"Really? Someone who, after eight months, won't even acknowledge me as anything other than 'my boss that I'm screwing around with' is suddenly Mr. Reliable? This was an accident, but I've done everything I could think of to stop you getting spooked."

"Spooked? I'm not a horse."

There it was, the patented Lisa Cuddy eye-scrunch of 'stop being a moron'. He normally got that expression a lot earlier in the conversation, but he was glad to see it nonetheless. The eye-scrunch meant they were on familiar ground, or at least he hoped they were.

"You know what I mean. You walk around like love's last great martyr, too scared to even have a proper date since Stacy. Well guess what, House? You had five good years and it didn't work out. Nobody would want to go through what you did, but you made the decision to push her away. In fact, you did it twice, and I am tired of overcompensating for that."

It was hard not to react to the mention of Stacy. Even after all these years, House could still blink and be back there with her, memories refusing to fade even as age and bourbon took the scythe to increasing numbers of his brain cells. He'd made every effort to keep her out of this thing with Cuddy, and it was pretty unfair to bring her up out of the blue.

Besides, it wasn't like she was the only reason for his various issues, and it pissed him off that Cuddy was simplifying things to score cheap points.

"I never asked you to. You knew what I was like when you got into this. And before I could screw it up by myself, you suddenly get pregnant. Right before the honeymoon period usually wears off, suddenly I'm locked in."

Perhaps a little harsh, but House could never believe in coincidences. Cuddy gets laid for the first time in eons and 'accidentally' gets knocked up like she always wanted? He'd trust the woman with his life, but he trusted no woman when it came to sex. As expected, his dig at her honesty only served to ratchet up her pissiness.

"You're saying I got pregnant on purpose? I didn't even think I still _could_."

She'd given up on IVF because it hadn't worked, and she'd taken the pill as religiously as usual, until the disruption of spending nights at his apartment had wreaked havoc on her ultra-organized existence. They could have been more careful, but with blood tests proclaiming a clean bill of health it seemed only natural that they occasionally forget the condom. Of course, they should have known better, but a lot of common sense had gone out of the window in the face of their almost uncontrollable attraction.

"Forgive me if this doesn't sound original, but this is bullshit. You had every egg counted. Not to mention that most guys hear about their accidental offspring and know they might actually have options. What chance did I have with someone as baby-crazed as you?"

"So what, you're saying you'd have bailed out on this by now if not for the baby? Because not so long ago you still seemed pretty into the idea of 'us'."

God, she really was magnificent when provoked like this. It was hardly appropriate, but the only thing sexier than an angry Cuddy was an angry and sex-mussed Cuddy. It made it pretty much impossible to deny the charge she was leveling at him.

"Man enjoys sex. Hold the front pages."

Naturally, his eyes were drawn directly to her exposed breasts at the mention of sex. Catching the direction of his gaze, Cuddy groaned at his predictability and stood to retrieve her robe from the back of the door. She was tying the belt with an especially tight knot when she spoke to him again.

"It hasn't been just sex. You made promises, in your own way. You've been talking to the baby."

"It's called humoring you."

They both knew it was more than that. He'd actually gotten quite into the idea, at least while it was still theory. House was cursing Cuddy's need to define everything, they could have been ready for a second round by now if she hadn't gone picking up the damn clothes.

"You don't want this baby at all, do you?"

Did she really think he was that cold? Fine.

"I think I'd make a pretty crappy dad, no matter how many Hallmark platitudes you come up with. And the last thing I thought would happen to me at this stage in my life was having a rugrat on the way. But I figured there would be an upside."

He smirked at his own argument, though he got nothing but steely gray in return. This wasn't like their usual banter, not their usual light jabs. It was beginning to feel more like a round of Russian Roulette, a round played with an automatic pistol.

"You thought you could just keep having sex with me until I got too whale-like and then bolt?"

The accusations had escalated from minor infractions to outright character assassination, and House was getting tired of it. If she thought so damn little of him, why not add fuel to the fire? He ignored the first shimmer of tears that he could see threatening to spill.

"There is that. Also, even when you've withdrawn my all-access pass, you're still going to need a gopher. It'll be easy to hold you to ransom over clinic duty when Junior here needs to be taken to soccer practice and Mommy's too busy throwing herself at every rich man in Jersey to fund the hospital she spends all her time at."

Cuddy had been pacing as he ranted, but his final words did the trick. Suddenly her hands were wrapped around the black iron that formed the bottom of the bed, her body tensed as though any moment she'd vault on to the mattress and finally kill him like everyone half-expected.

"So not only are you here against your will, but you thought it was a good time to point out that I'll be a crappy mother? You're a real bastard sometimes, you know that?"

"I'm a real bastard pretty much all the time."

Stating the obvious was beneath her. What happened to all the fun arguments they used to have? Hell, it was practically the only way they'd communicated for the past 20 years.

"Get out."

House hadn't expected that.

Usually when he made a crack about his lack of commitment, she countered that she was only using him for his sperm, or some other snippy comeback that was the preserve of the Cuddy he knew and loved. Actually, finally pointing that out he did love her would have been another quick way of heading off this little fiasco. Still, why start picking the easy road now?

His fatal mistake had been not to factor in the killer combination of hyperactive hormones and post-coital sappiness. Instead of the cuddling she usually demanded and that he usually participated in gladly but with feigned irritation, she was getting bedroom warfare and there was no way for them to come out of that intact. It had been a serious miscalculation on his part, but pride had come into play.

He wasn't going to apologize after all this; worst of all, they both knew it. With an exaggerated exhalation, he extricated his sluggish body from the comfortable cocoon he'd made for himself and limped towards the pile of his clothes that Cuddy had dumped on the chair.

He dressed as quickly as he could, the tension of the room making him fumble in his haste to leave. Part of him still hoped that Cuddy would change her mind, that she'd locate her House-English dictionary and realize that once again he'd taken it farther than he meant to for the love of the fight.

With a last-ditch attempt at smoothing things over, he actually stepped across to kiss her goodbye. All he got for his trouble was a slap that probably hurt her more than him, especially with stubble factored in.

"I don't want to see you anymore, House. You can't speak to me that way and expect it to blow over by morning, do you understand?"

There was a perfect calmness to her tone, one House recognized from some of their worst arguments in the past.

"Yeah, yeah Cuddy. I'll try to forget you said that when you show up at my place in three days for a booty call."

She had always loved his arrogance, the parting shot would surely set them on the road to recovery. House began to panic when Cuddy's face remained impassive.

"I mean it, House."

She made a gesture with her hands. "This is over. I can't believe I was stupid enough to get involved in the first place."

Stunned, House had no comeback to offer. Feeling something that was suspiciously like moisture in his eyeball area, he stumbled away from the bed and made his way down the hall.

With every step, every corresponding bounce of his cane against the wooden floor, he strained to hear her calling him back. When none came, he jerked the front door open and headed for his bike, slamming the door with all the force he could muster.

He revved the bike obnoxiously for a full three minutes, but it didn't garner so much as a twitch of the curtains from Cuddy's window. It did bring her snooty neighbors to theirs though, and so he pulled on his helmet and accepted defeat.

After all, he thought, he'd lasted months longer than anyone could ever have expected. So what if he'd blown it now?


	8. Chapter 8

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 8

"**Our love is like the border between Greece and Albania**

**Trucks loaded down with weapons crossing over every night."**

"_International Small Arms Traffic Blues",_ The Mountain Goats

* * *

Wilson was signing off his last chart of clinic duty when the sudden crash from behind made his pen skew wildly across the paper.

The crash had come from the direction of Cuddy's office and sounded remarkably like porcelain meeting floor. A braver man might have gone in to investigate, but the last time he'd been curious about the rhythmic thumping from the fourth floor janitor's closet, he'd walked in on House and Cuddy in the middle of something that left him feeling jealous and slightly intimidated. Never again.

As he turned to leave, he caught Cameron's eye across the nurse's station. She was hovering by the outer doors to Cuddy's office, clearly dissuaded from knocking by the commotion.

With a noncommittal shrug, Wilson crossed the room to speak with her. Cameron had been so kind to him since his return to work, the least he could do was warn her.

"I, uh, wouldn't rush in there if I were you."

"Cuddy's remodeling?"

Wilson caught the knowing look and smiled. The hospital gossip network was clearly as proficient as ever.

"You need something? Cuddy's been locked away all morning, no appointments."

Cameron regarded him suspiciously, and Wilson wondered for the hundredth time why he always felt the need to involve himself in Cuddy's business. Not to mention that he'd barely seen House in the past couple of weeks, save for the occasional limp-by mugging in the cafeteria, items from his tray propelled away with nothing more than a grunt from the thief.

"Yeah, she's been off limits all the time lately, and I can't wait any longer for her to sign off on the new beds I've ordered for the ER. She responds to emails, but getting her to come down and sign something seems to be impossible."

Wilson was about to respond when Cuddy's inner door came flying open, House storming through it with an expression that didn't suggest an afternoon delight had been the reason for his visit. Or perhaps they still thought their performances were still fooling anyone.

Cuddy was hot on House's heels, her strides for once unencumbered by her typical tight skirts. She looked lovely in a flowing red skirt that was more playful than her usual work attire, and Wilson noted that it did a pretty good job of drawing attention from the bump he'd gotten so used to noticing.

"Don't you dare go back in there, House!"

House turned suddenly, causing Cuddy to barrel straight into him. They sprang apart like magnets repelling each other.

"Well, if you won't let me treat the patient, I have no option but to go home."

Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest.

"Like hell you will. You'll go back to the lab and get me some evidence before you give your patient so much as an aspirin. Then _I _will decide on the appropriate course of treatment."

House gave her one of his more insolent looks, his fingers twisting around the handle of his cane as he considered his next move.

"Fine. But when he dies, you can help the parents pick out the coffin. I hear they do all kinds of cheerful ones for toddlers now."

With that, he beat a hasty retreat toward the clinic exit, leaving Cuddy fuming in his wake. When she turned around to deal with the previously invisible Wilson and Cameron, he had to stop himself from running for shelter in the nearest exam room.

"What?"

For Cuddy to snap was unheard of. As icy cool as she could be, she always kept up some form of civility. Wilson didn't dare speak, but Cameron clearly had more balls. Before she could finish asking the question, Cuddy had grabbed the form and signed with an angry scrawl. Within seconds, she was safely back behind two sets of closed doors, leaving Wilson and Cameron to stare at each other in confusion.

Unwilling to gossip about his friends where the nurses could pick up on anything, Wilson offered to walk Cameron back to the ER. It prompted a curious look from her, the chivalry completely unnecessary, but she nodded in agreement.

"So, trouble in paradise?"

Her opening remark took him by surprise. He hadn't seen anything particularly unusual in the slightly savage nature of House and Cuddy's interaction.

"Well, I can't give out privileged information. But I've barely seen House in the past two weeks so I think that little show might be a lame attempt at throwing the gossips off their trail."

Cameron stopped to read the staff notice board, but still took the time to disagree.

"Something's up, it's quite obvious. Usually when they argue, Cuddy makes all those little gestures like touching his forearm. And House uses his height to lean in and intimidate her. That last one looked like they were feeling sick about even being in the same room as each other."

Wilson laughed at the fake nonchalance Cameron was trying to project.

"How long do you spend observing the mating rituals of your former boss? Not to mention your current one."

"Our paths cross, and I know a thing or two about office romances."

Wilson caught the wistful note in Cameron's statement, and wondered if the rumors about trouble between her and Chase were true. However, the same gossip mill also whispered that they were getting married with the same predictable frequency.

"Not that I'm confirming there is any romance."

"Yeah, and Cuddy's taken to wearing a fanny pack under her blouses, right? Couldn't possibly be a second trimester pregnancy, could it?"

Wilson shrugged in defeat. It wasn't as though it was his secret to keep.

"House taught you well."

Cameron raised an incredulous eyebrow at that, and Wilson realized it did sound kind of patronizing.

"Not really. He just gave me a chance to use what I was already good at."

Wilson couldn't quite believe the change he saw in Allison Cameron. Four years ago she'd been all wide-eyed and hero-worshipping. Now she was confident, secure and downright sassy. He had to give her credit for surviving the ordeal of working for House in the first place, never mind coming through it to become an even better doctor.

"Well, I'm not entirely convinced. They've always had a pretty complicated relationship, and they're as likely to kill each other as to kiss."

Cameron considered his point; she had always been thoughtful enough to listen to him, but he could see that her mind was already made up. The increased noise as they approached the ER put a spring in her step, and she said a hasty goodbye. As Wilson made his way back to the lobby, Cameron called over her shoulder to him.

"I just wondered if it was anything to do with the extra pills?"

Wilson stopped dead at the comment, but before he could reply, the double doors were swinging and he was alone in the corridor.

* * *

After a detour to check his messages and get a cup of coffee from the cart, Wilson realized he had no choice but to breach the lion's den. He'd see House as well, but there was no point trying to get blood from a stone without some ammunition. For that, he'd have to offer his shoulder to Cuddy and hope she didn't cut off his head instead.

He knocked lightly when he arrived back at her office, and opened the door before he could be told to go away. Wilson wished he hadn't been so gung-ho when he came across a crying Lisa Cuddy behind her desk. Ever efficient, she had a tissue in one hand, signing paperwork with her left.

"I'm not in the mood, Wilson."

There was no mistaking the warning, but having overcome the first hurdle, there was little point in turning back now. A casual glance at her wastepaper basket confirmed the destruction of a vase that accounted for the earlier noises. He straightened his lab coat and sat down in front of her desk. Conjuring up his most sympathetic expression, he asked gently what was wrong.

"I'm sure you can guess. Turns out some habits really do die hard, on top of which House was just hanging around until I got too fat to put out."

Wilson was taken aback at the frankness of her confession. Usually, getting Cuddy to open up took all of his charm and possibly some form of cake.

"I'd say that doesn't sound like him, but certain parts do ring true. He got more Vicodin?"

Cuddy nodded sadly, pretending to be fascinated by the papers in front of her.

"And knowing House as I do, I'll assume it wasn't procured with the full cooperation of his attending?"

"Right again. Seems the ER has turned into a pharmacy in the past few weeks. You warned me he was back to his old tricks, but I didn't want to believe it. Of course, when I confronted him all I got was childishness and insults. So I called it off."

Wilson covered his grunt of surprise with a sudden, sharp cough. That meant Cameron had been implying exactly what he thought. Which made this an even bigger mess.

"How are you doing, though? Getting enough sleep? It can't be easy with everything on your mind."

Cuddy's head snapped up so suddenly, Wilson was concerned she might have whiplash.

"There's nothing on my mind, other than work and preparing for the baby. It's hardly unexpected that it would crash and burn, so why worry about it?"

Her business-like demeanor might fool her employees, but Wilson could see the strain as she tried to convince herself of those words. Man, he was going to kick

House's ass just as soon as he tracked him down.

"He won't abandon the baby, Cuddy. Whatever you think of him, he's not that twisted."

She scoffed quietly at his statement, but made no move to contradict him

"Well, I'll leave you to your work. If you need anything, a lift to your doctor's appointments, anything at all, just let me know."

Cuddy dropped her pen and reached across the desk for his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Thank you. That's so sweet of you. I've got one tomorrow, but I'll be fine to drive myself."

Wilson stood once she released his hand.

"Let me know how it goes, okay?"

Cuddy offered him the closest to a smile that she could summon, and he made his way quickly back into the relative safety of the clinic. Without breaking stride, he headed straight for the elevators. This afternoon was turning into a marathon around the hospital, but there was no way he could let this drop now.

* * *

Twenty fruitless minutes later, Wilson was beginning to feel lightly concussed, probably due to the metaphorical brick wall he'd been banging his head against. Undeterred, he continued with the conversation that had earned him only contemptuous glares and sarcastic replies so far.

"But Cameron? Hell, even I feel a little betrayed by that."

House retained his bored expression, juggling his oversized tennis ball with the lazy skill borne of too much free time.

"You too? I told you, Jimmy, if you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it."

Wilson couldn't help but roll his eyes at the flippancy.

"Beyoncé? Wow, you really are growing as a person."

House affected his mock serious face and leaned forward as though about to share a dark secret.

"You know that young lady has a habit of wearing hotpants? A complete surprise to me, really. I've always just respected her for her music."

Exasperated beyond belief, Wilson snatched House's beloved toy away from him.

"You pushed Cuddy away because you don't know how to be happy!"

House pouted at the confiscation.

"I didn't push anyone, I got bored."

"This is so typical! The first time in years that you're not miserable and you throw it away!"

House was on the defensive now, sitting up out of his slouch and crossing his arms huffily.

"I never stopped being miserable, I just had something to occupy my time. I'm not stupid enough to turn down the chance of getting laid. And not to get in the way of a good lecture, but she ended things with me."

The words sounded hollow, even as House tried to play down the break-up, Wilson could see the red rims of his eyes. He clearly hadn't been sleeping properly, and from what Wilson could establish, all this had happened nearly two weeks ago.

"That's all it was to you? Just sex?"

The "duh" face House responded with was as unconvincing as it was unnecessary.

"Yeah, and pretty soon that's all over anyway. Babies do bad things to a woman's body. In a couple of months most of her fun parts won't be working any more, and then the rest will be quite different. What's the point in sticking around, then?"

"I don't believe you. I've never seen you like this, or at least not since Stacy. You were involved, you care about her. You care about that baby, too."

House had clearly had enough, and stood to leave, grabbing for his bag and cane as he attempted to escape.

"Don't do this House, don't be the jerk. If you just apologized for whatever you said…"

"Too late for that. The damage is done. If you're so concerned about Cuddy and my unborn child, you're welcome to go offer yourself as a stand-in. Don't let me stop you."

With that, House trudged out towards the elevators, leaving a frustrated Wilson in the empty office. Wilson rubbed wearily at his face, this was going to get worse before it got better, of that much he was sure.

As the elevator doors closed on House, his fellows suddenly appeared from around the corner, scurrying back in the direction of the conference room. Intrigued by their blatant avoidance, Wilson stuck around and grabbed Kutner by the elbow before the younger man could reach safety.

"I know House is a pain to work for, but are three grown adults really playing hide and seek?"

Kutner was nonplussed by the question, clearly he didn't see anything unusual in their behavior.

"You would be too if you'd had to work for him lately. He's ordering ridiculous tests for patients with nothing worse than the flu, and insisting we run everything past Cuddy who's threatening to fire us if we show up at her office again. He's way more evil than usual. And uh, can you let go of me now? You're kind of hurting my elbow."

Wilson released his grip with a mumbled apology, catching Taub's eye as he came to join the conversation.

"Please tell me you know a way to snap House out of whatever this mood is. If I wanted danger in the workplace, I'd have joined the Marines."

"Your guess is as good as mine, he has bad spells every so often."

"Yeah, Foreman warned us about that. So did Chase and Cameron. Funnily enough, it always seems to coincide with chaos in House's personal life. Wouldn't be anything to do with him schtupping Cuddy for the past few months, would it? I'm assuming she finally saw sense?"

Thirteen joined them in the doorway to contribute her theory.

"I told you, she's pregnant. Maybe he freaked out on her?"

She looked to Wilson with a hopeful expression, seeking confirmation that she was right.

Kutner jumped in before he could say anything incriminating.

"You don't know that she's pregnant. Sometimes people put on a little weight when they settle down."

"They tend to put in on in places other than their abdomen. And trust me, Cuddy's just as slim everywhere else."

Wilson felt a little funny at the thought of Thirteen checking Cuddy out, but shook it off as he realized how inappropriate it was.

"We shouldn't really be speculating. House will snap out of it eventually."

All three turned their most incredulous looks on him, and Wilson remembered that they'd been working there long enough to know better. With a shrug, he excused himself and walked the short distance back to his own office.

By the time six o'clock rolled around he had seen all his patients for the day and signed off a respectable number of files. Free to puzzle over the House and Cuddy debacle, he gathered his things and headed to the parking lot. Just as he was fishing his keys out of his pocket, he caught a flash of blonde hair in his peripheral vision.

The momentary flash of hope gave way to the nausea of grief as soon as he realized the impossibility that the tall blonde now getting into a Range Rover could be Amber. When he was distracted like that it was so easy to forget the hell he'd been through, if only for a few seconds. It hurt twice as bad when it all came crashing back, and before he could even think about driving he took a moment to get his breathing back to normal and let the nausea pass.

When he was finally ready to put the key in the door, he made up his mind about one thing. If House was going to be an asshole, Wilson wasn't going to let Cuddy suffer for it. He'd call her tonight and arrange to pick her up for her doctor's appointment. Maybe that would spur House into some kind of action, and if not, at least he'd be doing the right thing by a friend.

Satisfied, Wilson started his BMW and drove off to his empty apartment.


	9. Chapter 9

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 9

* * *

"**The warning signs have all been bright and garish**

**Far too great in number to ignore"**

"_Old College Try", _The Mountain Goats

* * *

Cuddy grimaced at the knock on her front door. Of course Wilson would be 20 minutes earlier than the time they'd arranged. Though she was grateful for the company, she already regretted accepting his offer of a ride to the clinic. It was going to be hard enough without House there to crack jokes and alleviate the tension. Perhaps it was just lingering anxiety from the messy break-up and two solid weeks of fighting afterwards, but she didn't feel like being poked and prodded today.

Rationally, she knew everything was likely to be fine. The official scan at 12 weeks had ruled out the major risks, and she'd been checking herself every now and then with the clinic equipment. Although she knew the minimal risks of amniocentesis, her training also served as a reminder that someone had to be among the unlucky few who formed that tiny percentage.

Fixing her earrings, she opened the door to her eager colleague. He was holding what looked to be a bag full of pastries and something in a plastic cup, causing her reticence about seeing him to fade in an instant. Wilson offered her the goodies and treated her to a boyish grin when she took a curious swig of the smoothie he'd provided.

"I thought you could do with some breakfast."

"This is great, thank you."

He stepped inside but made no move to close the door, the cold February air sweeping into her hallway.

"And I have some bottled water in the car. Probably best you drink up before the ultrasound. Full bladder and all that."

Cuddy was touched by his thoughtfulness. For a fleeting moment, she wondered why she'd never taken her chance with the eligible Dr. Wilson, considered the possibility of a life with foot rubs and someone else doing the cooking. Still, no time to dwell on it when there was a strawberry danish calling her name.

"There was an accident on Route 1 earlier, so I thought we should leave a little earlier."

She nodded, mouth full of pastry. With a final check of her hair and make-up, Cuddy grabbed her briefcase and purse, motioning for Wilson to follow. He even ran around the car to open the passenger side door for her, a modern-day knight in shining armor.

Wilson got in as she was smoothing down the jacket of her suit, and for a second, she thought he was going to lean across and fix her seatbelt, but seemed to think better of it. Cuddy wasn't wild about being fussed over, and certainly not used to it. She breathed a sigh of relief as Wilson started the car and pulled out of her driveway.

"You coming straight home after the test?"

"Yeah, if you can drop me here, I can bring my own car into work."

Wilson had his attention on the road as they turned out of her street, though he took a moment to flick the radio on.

"Nervous?"

He tore his eyes from the road long enough to treat her to a reassuring smile. No wonder he was such a good oncologist, Cuddy thought, she felt soothed just being around him.

"I don't do nervous, remember? I just want the all clear so I can stop conjuring up nightmares for myself."

Wilson's forearms flexed lightly as he steered into the slow lane, even though the power steering made any strength unnecessary. He was taking his chauffeur detail very seriously, and Cuddy found it kind of adorable.

The short journey passed in comfortable silence, Cuddy sipping constantly from the smoothie cup and then the bottled water that had been placed in the glove compartment for her. He didn't mention House so neither did she, though her thoughts strayed to him as frequently as they had always done.

Last week she'd considered going over there and demanding the apology that was rightfully hers. He would never initiate it, but it had crossed her mind that if she gave him the opportunity, he could make things right between them.

Although she'd considered becoming a single mother, the reality was pretty terrifying. More than anything, she'd enjoyed the idea of raising a child with House, of passing on the best bits of him to their kid.

He'd ignored her other than their habitual tussles over patients, and she'd made no concessions that might indicate forgiveness. She'd lain awake longer than intended most nights to replay his cruel words, an unfortunate loop of perfect recall that made her heart ache that she could have been so wrong. Like their many arguments across the years though, it did very little to dissuade her from loving him, try though she might.

Well, for so many years she'd been able to resist that knowledge, to conveniently suppress the feelings she had for him. House might be the one who drove her crazy, but she'd survived just fine without him before and could do it again. Cuddy had gotten pretty good at being alone, and in a few months there would be a tiny person to take up all her time.

Wilson held the car door open for her at the clinic, too; she was almost getting used to being around a man with manners. It was a little harder to negotiate her way out of the car, her expanding stomach throwing off her well-practiced elegance. Predictably, he was enough of a gentleman not to comment. She almost smiled at the thought of her last car journey with House when he threatened to call the fire department and have them winch her out of the driver's seat.

She stopped for a second, ostensibly to check for something in her purse, but really to let the pang of missing him pass before she continued the short walk to the clinic's front doors.

Early though they were, Cuddy presented herself at the desk with her most charming smile. If there was any chance of being seen early, she could get back to the office and finish preparing for that afternoon's board meeting.

Wilson hovered uncertainly behind her, chest pushed out in what she assumed was his best manly pose. Perhaps she should have asked him to wait in the car; he might start handing out cigars if left to his own devices.

She winced when the receptionist appeared from behind the frosted glass. It was one of the many assistants she'd been forced to let go before. The woman's face betrayed recognition instantly, and Cuddy tried her best not to let her professional smile falter.

It seemed to take an age, but after the requisite wait on uncomfortable chairs with a disinterested browse through back issues of _Vanity Fair_, Cuddy was finally called in to see Dr. Nadat.

Wilson stood to accompany her, which made her jump.

"Uh, Wilson, as much as I appreciate you, I don't think I'm ready to discuss my cervix with you."

The relief was palpable, his tense shoulders dropping about three inches when she absolved him of any obligation. With an encouraging pat on her shoulder, he sat back down with a copy of _Homes & Gardens_, leaving her free to have her examination.

It was exactly the same drill as her previous appointments, with the practice's senior obstetrician in attendance because they liked having their emergency facilities at PPTH and thus the Dean had to be treated accordingly. The ultrasound technician was remarkably unimpressed, or perhaps just eager to get another swollen belly out of the room as quickly as possible.

Cuddy nodded politely through the chatter about blood pressure and blood sugar, expectations for the amniocentesis and other such formalities. Eventually the icy cool gel was applied to her abdomen, and it distracted her for a moment to notice the difference since her first ultrasound. Then her stomach had still been flat, the contours of years in the gym still impressively present. Twenty weeks was sneaking up and her shape hadn't changed dramatically, but it left her looking as though she'd swallowed a large grapefruit.

The swirling sound of the ultrasound filled the room, all the technology advances had done nothing to make it sound any less weird over the years. With bated breath, she waited for her baby's heartbeat.

There it was.

One beat.

Then two.

Cuddy exhaled with relief, but it caught in her throat at the irregular pause she heard before another beat finally came in. Dr. Nadat wouldn't meet her eye, all attention in the room suddenly focusing on the slightly grainy digital image.

House might be making the musical contribution to the kid's genetic makeup, but even someone as tone deaf as Cuddy could pick up on the lack of regular rhythm. She watched, numb with fear, as Dr. Nadat reached out to trace something on the screen with her finger.

When the doctor turned to speak to her, Cuddy found herself unable to hear the words. She was trying so hard to focus on the screen, but the tears welling up wouldn't let her see.

* * *

Wilson tapped his foot impatiently as checked his watch for the fiftieth time. When he'd offered to drive Cuddy here, he'd expected a 20-minute checkup and straight back to the hospital. As it stood, he was going to have to reschedule at least one appointment, and a second if Cuddy didn't appear soon.

He'd also spent a long night attempting to pluck up the courage to suggest something pretty radical to her. Something, maybe a misguided sense of duty, had kept him up past two worrying over it.

As soon as he saw her again, he was going to propose that he step in to help her raise the baby. She'd seemed so lost without House at her side, and it couldn't be easy to contemplate doing this alone, not with a job as demanding as hers. Plus, it might teach House that he shouldn't throw away something so fantastic. If Wilson was honest, he'd always had a great affection for Cuddy, or Lisa as he had called her before House's bad habits rubbed off on him. Maybe things between them would develop, he'd marry her if that was what she wanted.

Thankfully, at the moment she emerged from the exam room, her face a little paler than when she'd gone in. In her hand she held a bunch of paperwork, the telltale black square on top clearly a snapshot of her scan. When Wilson spoke to her, she seemed to ignore him at first. When she did turn her attention on him there was a distracted air about her, and she simply nodded towards the parking lot, taking off briskly. Forced to trot along after her, Wilson realized what must be wrong with her.

Seeing her child like that had to be emotional; for the first time in the pregnancy, she was dealing with all this alone. Wilson could have kicked himself for not insisting that he keep her company. He could have kicked House even harder for screwing things up like this.

"So you want me to drop you off at your house?"

Wilson asked the question as he got into the car, clicking his seatbelt into place. He was startled by her hand on his, her skin jarringly cold.

"Could you take me straight to the hospital, please?"

The tone was too plaintive for a mere change of destination, but Wilson didn't feel comfortable pushing her, not when he saw the determined set of her jaw. Cuddy was on some kind of mission, and he was not the kind of fool who got trampled by standing in her way.

He started the engine and and before he could think to ask her anything further, she had reached for the volume control and turned the Police album that started to play up to an almost uncomfortable level. James Wilson could take a hint, so he drove them back to the hospital at something a little closer to the speed limit than their original trip.

Pulling up in his usual space, Wilson got out and opened the door for Cuddy, only to find her staring straight ahead, belt still firmly in place.

"Cuddy?"

She nodded, making no move to release her seatbelt.

Seizing his chance, Wilson allowed the words that had been bouncing around his head finally spill forth.

"I wanted to ask you something. I know that House has let you down, and you both seem to be saying that there's no going back. But I can't bear to think of you going through this alone. Would you consider letting me raise this baby with you? I could be there for you, move in if you need someone around to do things for you. And I know we've only ever had a couple of dates, but I'm saying that I'll commit to you both, even if House won't."

Cuddy turned to him, her face deathly pale, clearly in shock.

"Wilson, I…"

"Oh God, I shouldn't have said anything yet. Listen, you can take some time to think about it."

She burst into tears: huge, wracking sobs that seemed to be choking her as they escaped her throat. Her hand loosened its grip on the papers, letting them slide to the floor of the car.

Wilson hadn't expected this kind of reaction. He'd been prepared for a gentle rebuff, or the less likely grateful acceptance, but this was way beyond what he'd geared himself up for.

He began to panic slightly as Cuddy started to hyperventilate. Stretching across her to the glove compartment, he retrieved the discarded deli bag from earlier.

Wilson met her eyes as he pressed the paper gently against her mouth, instinctively reaching out to stroke the soft curls that framed her face.

"This isn't just about my idea, is it?"

Cuddy shook her head, closing her eyes as she tried to regulate her breathing, the sobs coming a little slower now.

"You want me to call him now?"

The nod and plea in her expression confirmed the course of action, and also that there was no chance of his little plan ever coming to fruition. With a small sigh of disappointment, Wilson retrieved his cell and hit speed dial 1.

* * *

House pulled a face as his phone rang out with the familiar strains of Dancing Queen. Ignoring it in favor of his computer screen, he grumbled at the slow loading of the image he was waiting for.

So it wasn't technically ethical to breach another institution's medical records system, but if they were going to make it so damn easy, how could he refuse. Cuddy's appointment had ended 30 minutes ago, and her file was being gradually updated as he refreshed. Now all that remained was the scan itself and the doctor's notes. Hitting command-R with an impatient flourish, House smiled as the ultrasound began to load at a more reasonable speed.

The sick feeling that surged up his windpipe made him wish he'd never hacked into the damn thing in the first place. The white blob right where it shouldn't be drew his eyes to it almost magnetically, and as he kept refreshing, line after line of notes filled the previously empty box.

Struggling to digest the information presented, House grasped blindly for his cane. He had to move, he had to get away from the glaring facts in front of him.

He had to get to Cuddy.


	10. Chapter 10

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 10

"**From the entrance to the exit**

**Is longer than it looks from where we stand**

**I want to say I'm sorry for things I haven't done yet**

**Things will shortly get completely out of hand."**

"_Old College Try"_, The Mountain Goats

* * *

Cuddy was dimly aware that she was still sitting in the passenger seat of Wilson's car. The building in front of her was definitely the hospital. Wilson was pacing back and forth across her line of vision, his agitation evident as he muttered into his phone.

She was able to breathe in and out, but each act took much more effort than usual. She felt cold, clammy and oddly stiff; she wasn't sure she could move even if she ordered her limbs to. Years of medical training were scrambling around for a problem to fix, neurons firing off as fast as they ever had, spurred on by the excess of adrenalin in her system.

So much pent-up energy, so much knowledge and capability - all of it completely useless.

She didn't know how long she'd been zoned out when the car door opened, but the chilly breeze brought her back to reality in a painful instant. Reaching instinctively to release the seatbelt, she was stopped by cold fingers on hers.

"Dr. Cuddy, are you okay? Wilson called me down here, he was worried you might be hysterical."

She'd been expecting House; hell, she had been practically begging for House, and instead she was faced with Cameron. Though relations between them had been a little less frosty since Cameron had moved to the ER, it was by no means a friendly relationship. But in her panic, in her sudden need for someone else to take over for a while, Cuddy simply nodded and accepted the comforting hand on hers.

"I'll be fine Dr. Cameron. I just had a bad morning."

Cuddy attempted to smile at her colleague, but the muscles of her face refused to cooperate. Cameron was crouching in by the open door, her pink scrubs immaculate despite the fact that Cuddy knew she was covering early morning shifts that week. Even her messy ponytail looked somehow smart and intentional, leaving Cuddy feeling awkward and frumpy on top of everything else.

"Is it… and I really don't want to pry… but does it have something to do with the baby?

It was the last thing she felt like discussing right now, and this person was the least likely one she'd want to talk to about it. It took every remaining scrap of control for Cuddy to keep her voice even.

"I don't know what House has told you in your secret little Vicodin- exchange, but that's none of your business."

Cameron stiffened at Cuddy's vicious tone.

"He didn't tell me anything. In fact, he tried to keep it secret, even though it's becoming quite obvious," she said as matter-of-factly as possible.

Too tired to fight, Cuddy sighed in resignation. House wasn't her problem right now. She had much bigger problems, and had to somehow make it to her office without breaking down again. Even as she contemplated it, another sob rose up in her throat.

Surrendering to the sadness and panic that engulfed her, Cuddy was oddly comforted to feel Cameron's hand rubbing soothing circles on the top of her back. Then her seatbelt was clicked open and the younger woman leaned awkwardly into the passenger seat to offer a hug. Feeling that the day couldn't really get much more surreal, Cuddy gratefully accepted it, the gentle pressure on her upper body calming her a little.

When the latest wave of helplessness subsided, Cuddy wriggled slightly to tell Cameron it was time to set her free. On shaking legs, she made her ungainly exit from the car, no longer too proud to accept the steadying arm that was offered. Wilson approached, phone still glued to his ear, but Cameron waved him away as the two women made slow but steady progress towards the staff entrance.

Ignoring the curious glances, Cameron warded off all potential interference with the death glare that resembled something to Cuddy's own. Safe in the Dean's office at last, Cameron helped her boss to the nearest sofa before pulling the blinds closed. As the last cord dropped back into place, an agitated House came bursting through the door, his limp almost unnoticeable in his haste.

"Where the hell were you? I've been trying to call you for 20 minutes and your car isn't here."

He paced, every movement rippling with agitation, eyes never leaving Cuddy's semi-prone form.

"House, back off. She's not having a good day, and you ranting like an overprotective ass isn't going to help anything."

Cameron stepped up to him, unafraid to get in his face these days.

"Thanks, Blondie, but you can get back to stitching up battered wives now. Time for the grown-ups to have a little chat."

Cuddy regarded him balefully from the sofa, no fight forthcoming from her, temporary loyalty to Cameron dispersed in the face of wanting to get this conversation with House over and done with.

Conceding gracefully, Cameron left with a parting glance of sympathy for Cuddy, who had no doubt that Cameron's first step would be to seek out Wilson and attempt to eke out more information. When the click of the door closing signalled that they were alone, Cuddy leaned forward and opened her palms to House in a gesture of peace. She didn't have the strength to start on the offensive.

Seeing her so meek seemed to take the wind from his sails, and he slumped into the seat next to her and waited for her to speak. Caught off guard by his sudden patience, she stumbled a little.

"There's something I need to…Well, we need to talk about something. I just can't find the words."

"How about rhabdomyoma? Seems like a good place to start."

Her hands had clenched into fists in anticipation. She raised her left hand to her mouth, teeth making contact with fingers in a shaky but ultimately successful bid to stem the fresh tide of tears.

"How could you possibly know already?"

He shrugged, twirling his cane around outstretched fingers like some gangly teenager proud of mastering the skill. The swishing noise it made in the claustrophobic air sounded like a knife slashing ineffectually at the tension between them. Watching the rhythmic process, Cuddy allowed her logic processes to kick in for the first time in a couple of hours.

"Either you bribed the technician, or you've done something highly illegal with your computer. Again."

"Whether I found out or you told me, the facts are pretty much the same. When's the fetal echo?"

Cuddy almost felt like smirking at regaining the upper hand, albeit temporarily.

"I had it right after the ultrasound. Seems your information is a little out of date."

Deflated at the memory of its revelations, Cuddy reached for the crumpled pages she'd recovered from the car and thrust them across the limited space between them, leaving House to fumble as he gathered them up. When the pages were collected, she watched him read, his usual appearance of devouring every word strangely absent. He held the pages at arm's length, wincing as he regarded the images and the doctor's typical lousy handwriting.

The information finally digested, he turned the ferocity of his stare back on her.

"You took Cameron with you for this?"

Confused, Cuddy shook her head.

"Wilson."

The familiar expression of House worrying at the bone of a missing detail appeared.

"He let you find this out and just dumped you on Cameron?"

Cuddy sighed at the diversion, Wilson's actions furthest from her mind. House was clearly stalling for time as his brain filtered the test results.

"I didn't tell him. He guessed something was up when I started gushing like a geyser. Though, to be fair, he thought that was a reaction to his proposal at first."

On a better day, she'd have enjoyed the violent double-take that her revelation had just provoked from House. At least the verbal cut and thrust of discussion with him was giving her something to focus on, something to keep her sane.

"Before you get your teeth into that, how about you share your thoughts on our little bombshell?"

It had come out much calmer than she thought herself capable of just then, but Cuddy forced herself to keep breathing evenly. This wouldn't be real until House had looked at it, until he'd told her whether he agreed or the staff at the clinic were incompetent morons unworthy of delivering his prodigious spawn. It made her feel ill at realizing how she desperately clinging to something that might prove everything wrong.

He leaned forward in the overstuffed chair that had been intended to make her office seem homely and welcoming. With House in it, the chair seemed superficial, almost ridiculous. Making a steeple with his elegant fingers, he addressed her softly, more hesitant than she could ever remember him being.

"It's the ventricular wall that's screwing Junior."

If she'd been standing, Cuddy's knees would have just given out.

"Fetal cardiac tumors aren't always the end of the world, even an administrator could probably work that out. But this looks like it's part of the ventricular muscle itself. The aorta is millimeters away from being completely compromised. It's kind of a miracle that any blood is getting through at all right now."

It wasn't news;, it was simply the bluntest version of what she'd already been told and surmised. The tumor would only grow as the fetus did, and although it was almost certainly benign, the risk was that blood supply to the heart would be fatally compromised before she could carry it to term. The child she had wanted so desperately would almost certainly not survive, and now she had to decide

In a sudden surge of panic, she propelled herself from the soft cushions, pacing aimlessly around the table. She'd paced this office a thousand times worrying about House, or waiting desperately for an update on a patient. It calmed her, even as she felt unsteady on her feet.

Eventually her disjointed circuit of the room took her past House and his hand shot out to encircle her wrist with surprising tenderness. The contact of warm skin against her own made her cry out softly, and at his unspoken invitation, she lowered herself into his lap.

He held her awkwardly at first, the fluency of their sexual compatibility so often failed to translate into the easier intimacies. House was definitely not a hugger, but bless him, he was trying. It felt unspeakably better to be in his arms again, as though the preceding two weeks of lonely bitching had been a lifetime. She wasn't forgiving him, but damn it, right now she needed him.

House stroked her back gently as they both waited for the tears to come. Cuddy had already cried more today than she had in the past year, and it showed no signs of stopping. Absent-mindedly, his other hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking the tears away as they fell.

He buried his face in her hair, warm breath beautifully ticklish on her neck. When she eventually turned to kiss him, against her better judgement, she was stunned to see the tracks of moisture trailing from his eyes to the edges of his stubble.

"Why are you sad? I thought you didn't want this. I thought you'd be relieved."

The questions came out as more of an interrogation than she had intended, and House's expression hardened as he digested the words.

"I'd gotten used to the idea. And as much as I hate you sometimes, I don't actually enjoy seeing you devastated."

She accepted that, taking his rugged face in her hands, fingers splayed across the noble planes.

"I'm going to have to make an appointment, once the cardiologist confirms."

House nodded, having already skipped a few steps ahead as usual.

"D&E isn't pleasant. Need someone to hold your hand?"

It should have been taken as an uncharacteristically kind offer, and Cuddy knew it. But her damn independent streak reared up at the prospect of needing anyone, most likely a reaction to a day of feeling broken and needy. She still wasn't ready to even contemplate the reality of a termination, much less accept help to get through it.

"No. You don't have to feel obligated. I'll deal with it."

House opened his mouth to press the point, but apparently thought better of it. The moment of reconciliation faded as her hands fell away from his face. Aware of the renewed distance between them, Cuddy shoved herself from his lap back on to the safety of the sofa.

The clouds had rolled back in, House looking as dark and distant as ever. She searched frantically for something to say, anything to heal the rift between them. As she fumbled over her thoughts, he exhaled loudly and stood to leave.

"House?"

He hesitated by the door, not turning back to her.

"Yeah?"

"I'll, uh, I'll let you know when everything is done."

"Yeah."

With two brisk steps, he was out the door and gone.

Cuddy stayed frozen where she sat, not a single tear left for the moment that hurt the most.


	11. Chapter 11

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 11

"**I handed you a drink of the lovely little thing**

**On which our survival depends.**

**People say friends don't destroy one another**

**What do they know about friends?"**

"_Game Shows Touch Our Lives"_, The Mountain Goats

* * *

House scrubbed his face with exaggerated vigor, determined to erase any suggestion that he had let even a single tear escape. In the yellowing light of the men's room, he looked as ghoulish as he felt.

The one time she was really going to need him and the stubborn woman wouldn't let him get involved. Waving his hands under the tap to turn on the water, he didn't withdraw them even as the freezing water poured out,

As his fingers became numb, he mentally reviewed the images he'd stored in his brain. Cuddy's baby - their baby - was most likely not going to make it. A significant mass embedded in the wall of the tiny heart spelled nothing but bad news. He was sure there would be a flurry of calls to the top surgeons on this coast and everywhere else, but surgical options were likely to be limited.

What killed him about the whole damn mess was that he didn't have an alternative idea. Other people looked at scans or the notes from other doctors and accepted them at face value. He read between the lines, caught the almost undetectable detail, or pointed out the fallacy of going immediately to the obvious choice. No such luck here; it was exactly how it looked, and nothing in his encyclopedia of weird and cool suggested an alternative.

These high-quality snapshots of a glaring problem left him no wiggle room at all. That Cuddy had been expecting it from him, that it had been written all over her face as she watched him read the results in her office, only made him feel even worse.

Quite the track record: he'd knocked her up, broken her heart and now the child they'd conceived might well be dead before it was even born. What a great way to treat the woman he loved. It was really no mystery why he always ended up drunk, miserable and alone.

The swinging of the men's room door disrupted his silent self-flagellation, and with a jolt he realized the stinging in his hands. Pulling away from the icy stream, he met Wilson's eye briefly in the mirror. Too tired to be bothered with the extra steps for a paper towel, he simply dried them on the faded denim of his jeans, provoking a disgusted sigh from his best friend.

"Why aren't you in there with Cuddy? Something's obviously wrong."

House turned to face Wilson, in no mood for another sanctimonious lecture. All of a sudden, Cuddy's bizarre comment about a proposal suddenly resurfaced.

"A man can't pee because some chick has a case of the boo-hoos?"

Wilson fussed with his tie unnecessarily. House resisted the urge to point out that it clashed with his shirt.

"I know you, you're going to leave her there, alone, suffering. What's going on with her anyway?"

House tightened the grip on his cane, feet shifting awkwardly, the high-pitched squeak of rubber soles on tile producing a jarring note.

"Baby trouble. The not-gonna-be-a-baby kind. We talked, she said she didn't want me involved, I left. Simple as that. Or maybe it's something to do with some proposal of yours."

House could hear the icy coldness in his own voice, it felt too appropriate to tone it down. For a moment, Wilson's typical embarrassed flush showed on his face. However, he recovered almost instantaneously, with a hint of false bravado

"Hey, somebody had to step up. You bailed out like we all expected, and I couldn't let Cuddy raise the kid alone if she didn't want to. It's not like I haven't been married for worse reasons. I guessed something's up with the baby, but what specifically is wrong? Isn't there anything we can do?"

House stopped listening at the word "married". He hadn't considered that Cuddy meant "proposal" in the flowers and penguin suit sense. He felt an instant burning rage that threatened to blur his vision altogether.

Trying to look calm, he took a step forward. Wilson considered him warily, his words trailing off as House advanced. House strained to keep his voice level, succeeding only in achieving a kind of verbalized growl.

"What is this, Victorian England? Protecting her virtue isn't even a thing anymore, outside of movies and prominent Republican families"

Wilson held up his hands in his familiar gesture of appeasement. House felt the muscles in his arms twitch gently as he tensed for battle.

"Like I said, I was just trying to offer Cuddy what she needed. Babies need a father, but the mother needs somebody around to help too."

"So you offered to _marry_ her?"

The shrug was the straw that broke House's back. Without thinking, he lashed out with his left, catching Wilson's jaw with a fairly decent jab. The crunch of his knuckles took some of the pleasure away, but he definitely felt better for the sucker punch.

Especially when the off-guard Wilson ended up sprawled across the unhygienic floor. The pain in his jaw would be almost as bad as the sudden attack of germophobia that would no doubt engulf him.

"Cuddy doesn't _need_ anyone unless she says she does. And since I'm the redneck to her Bristol Palin, you can back the hell off."

Fuelled by righteous indignation, House stomped out into the hallway, intent on getting the hell out of Dodge before this day got any worse. At least Cuddy would be too preoccupied to chase him down for hours missed.

* * *

Cuddy had made it through three days and three nights, remembering to shower, drink the occasional glass of water and nibble half-heartedly at bits and pieces of fruit. Her hours at the hospital had been limited, only a few per day spent sequestered in her office playing phone tag with the nation's preeminent neo-natal specialists. She'd become an expert in forwarding that one particular email with all her medical details attached without actually reading it, eyes averted each time she added a new address and pressed 'send'.

The headache wedged behind her eyes as she left the Delaware Clinic had remained stubbornly in place. Focus was a problem, waxing and waning in ten-minute bursts. Wilson and Cameron were constantly hovering on the perimeter of the clinic, frequent visits from whichever nurse drew the short straw ended as soon as the hapless employee breached the office door. Things were slipping, and she was aware that someone, somewhere had to be covering for her or the place would have burned down by now. Too exhausted to question it, she accepted the lucky break and applied her limited energy to researching her baby's condition, her only respite grabbed in fitful 30-minute naps when her body gave out on her.

House, of course, kept his distance. She wondered if the angry purple bruise on Wilson's jaw was his doing, but didn't dally long enough in Wilson's company to be drawn into conversation. She nodded curtly at anyone foolish enough to make eye contact and escaped the hospital grounds as humanly fast as possible each day.

The fourth morning was the end of it all.

The last of the surgeons she'd contacted had emailed her at some point between Cuddy getting in the shower and arriving at work. In that 90-minute window, the last fragile hope was shattered.

Even the timing of the email was unexpected. Dr. Montgomery was on the West Coast, meaning the reply was sent at some ungodly hour of the morning for her. Cuddy remembered referring patients to her when the neo-natal surgeon had a practice in New York, a casual acquaintance that she knew mostly by reputation. Then something happened with her marriage, one of her surnames evaporated and she'd shown up a few months later out in California somewhere.

The email was courteous but to the point. With little fanfare, there was yet another confirmation of what Cuddy already knew. Though there was a minute chance she could carry the fetus until viable, the reality was that the growing tumor would soon eclipse the developing heart muscle and intrauterine death would occur. Montgomery had been her last chance, the top of her field and the one most likely to attempt something extraordinary. Admittance of defeat from her was somehow harder than all the rest.

Cuddy slumped back in her uncomfortable ergonomic chair, her coat still wrapped around her in her haste to discover the contents of the email. She was waiting for something, though she didn't know just what.

Then it dawned on her: she was still in denial. What she wanted more than anything was for House to come blazing into her office claiming that the whole thing was a misdiagnosis. If it meant he was intercepting her emails again, she would accept it just for him to come up with one of his outlandish theories that was undoubtedly right.

Cuddy felt a little cheated that her dream of salvation wasn't forthcoming. After all she had risked and sacrificed to allow House to do that for fifty patients a year. But why couldn't she reap the benefits for herself just when she needed them?

Though the hour was early (Had she really expected House to save the day before noon?), she consulted her Blackberry contacts and placed the call she'd been postponing.

"Dr Nadat? It's Lisa Cuddy. I'm going to need a referral."

* * *

House cursed as his attempts to get more comfortable ended with him whacking his knee on the steering column. The heater in his car was broken and after a frank exchange of views with the charlatan mechanic who tried to charge him the cost of a replacement kidney rather than the cost of a bit of wiring, it had stayed that way.

He checked his watch distractedly, having allowed half an hour on top of Cuddy's usual extreme earliness. It was approaching her actual appointment time and there was still no sign. Only a couple of days since the last of her email consults confirmed that there wasn't much hope, she'd moved with her trademark efficiency.

Late last night, he'd checked her patient files again and confirmed that she'd had the laminaria inserted, the little tube of seaweed that would make dilation possible. It seemed almost ridiculous that with all the technology available to them, a little roll of plant-life could be involved in such an invasive procedure.

Finally, he saw her Lexus roll into the parking lot, the luxury car visible amid the few other cars there this early in the morning. Hell, he wouldn't normally be conscious if he hadn't stayed up all night rattling aimlessly around his apartment, playing piano until the upstairs neighbors finally cracked and threatened to call the police.

Her sister stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the door for Cuddy. It must be a bad day for her to let anyone touch her precious car, he surmised. Or perhaps it was just House who was banned from going anywhere near the keys, but either way it was time for him to move.

With more agility than he'd expected after an hour of sitting in a cold and cramped car, he unfolded himself onto the tarmac and set off towards the Cuddy women. Karen saw him first, but before she could finish her gesture of warning, Cuddy herself turned to face him.

Slightly out of breath from the closest he got to a sprint, he had nothing more eloquent up his sleeve than "Hello".

Cuddy regarded him impassively, her eyes dull and the dark circles beneath them like smudges of charcoal.

"I didn't ask you to come."

He shuffled awkwardly as they stood there in the morning cold. House glowered at Karen, and she laid a protective hand on Cuddy's shoulder.

"I can stay with you, or if you want to talk, I can go and book you in."

Cuddy considered for a moment, but motioned towards the doors of the clinic for Karen to leave them. Her sister complied with some reluctance.

House watched her go, unable to resist a quip.

"Karen will be disappointed there are no feministas milling around for her to hit on. Not even any pro-life nuts with hand-painted signs."

As an ice-breaker it was pretty much useless, but he thought he might have seen a flicker of interest in her eyes.

"Are you, uh, are you gonna be okay? You checked these doctors out?"

She nodded, a flinch of irritation at the patronizing nature of the question.

"And you're sure you're happy to stick with a clinic? You wouldn't feel safer in a hospital? If anything goes wrong…"

It finally prompted her to speak.

"This is the most exclusive facility in the state, and they're equipped for emergency situations, probably better than the hospital. Your obligation to make sure I'm not in a back alley with a coat hanger is met. Go home, House."

He drew himself up to his full height, hoping to intimidate her into not dismissing him. Unfortunately for him, even on her worst day Lisa Cuddy was not easily intimidated. She'd dressed smartly, though without her usual pointy heels. To a less interested observer, it might well be just another day at the office for her, though her exhaustion was hard to ignore.

"No. Not until I know you're sure. If this was some stranger's kid, you'd be bending over backwards to see this through, to take the risk of the baby making it to term."

"Fetus, House. When did you stop calling it a fetus, anyway?"

He mumbled his answer, but she caught it anyway.

"Since it started mattering so much to you."

"And you think this is easy for me? You think I'm doing this because I don't want to try a little bit harder? Or that I thought my last chance at motherhood might be a good time to make a political statement?"

The color had returned to her face, the steel in her voice that he loved so much making its presence felt.

'That's not what I said. I was simply remarking on the absence of your blind optimism that you seem to apply it to everyone but yourself. And you have to admit, a termination is going to go over well with the other chicks at the next 'Bitches Who Run the World' convention."

Another day the joke might have earned him a wry smile but not today.

"I can't do this with you, not now."

She turned to walk away, but he laid a gentle hand on her elbow, the wool of her coat scratchy under his bare palm. He hadn't been this close to her in days, and the nearness of her made him a little dizzy.

"You have a choice, Cuddy. It might be a crappy one, but I just need to know that you're doing this because you choose to. That you haven't given up because I ruined everything by sneaking around for a few extra pills."

Cuddy looked up at him, eyes squinting slightly against the pale winter sun.

"We both know there's no miracle to hope for here. It means a lot that you're willing to put aside your own cynicism, but being naïve here won't help me. This baby isn't going to make it, House, and I can't sit around waiting for it to die. Just because I have to terminate a pregnancy I wanted doesn't make the process wrong."

She paused and blinked for a moment. Finally, she spoke up, more quietly this time.

"No woman should be forced to have a child she doesn't want. It's just shitty that it worked out this way for me."

At a loss for words, House overcame his habitual fear of rejection and scooped her into the strongest hug he could muster, still mindful of not squashing her. Planting a determined kiss on the top of her head, he whispered "I'm sorry" with all the sincerity he had.

When he released her from the embrace, she looked a little stronger, a little more like the Cuddy he knew so well.

"We can't go back, House, but if you want to be here with me, I'd like it. You can stay with me until I get the anaesthetic but Karen will bring me home tonight."

He shrugged as though she was inviting him over for coffee.

When she turned her back and lead the way to the clinic entrance, he followed willingly, the Vicodin plucked from his pocket increasing the numbness as he walked.

Cuddy stopped immediately outside the entrance and he kept a respectful distance as she took a deep breath and steeled herself. He stroked softly at her back with an open palm and she took it as reassurance to continue, her short strides propelling her the rest of the way.

He'd be waiting when Karen came back to take her home, and they both knew it. After all, it was the least he could do.


	12. Chapter 12

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 12

"**In the way those eyes I've always loved illuminate this place**

**Like a trashcan fire in a prison cell**

**Like the searchlights in the parking lots of Hell**

**I will walk down to the end with you**

**If you will walk all the way down with me."**

"_Old College Try_", The Mountain Goats

* * *

Groggy from the anesthetic, she slept all night.

He sent her sister home and spent the night watching her, barely comfortable in the chair he dragged into her bedroom.

Four times, or perhaps five, he stood and tugged at the sheet to crawl into bed and hold her. Each time, he dropped the thick cotton and thought better of it. He returned to his chair and grabbed a few fragmented moments of rest as he listened to her breathing.

House resisted the urge to kiss her when he left in the morning, but he left the chair out of place so that she would know she wasn't alone.

He slept fitfully all day, both phones switched off and unplugged so nobody could bother him. When he awoke, it was already dark, so he took a long shower to clear the hazy feeling and ordered pizza. He thought about going over to check on her, but his cell showed no evidence of her trying to contact him, so he opted to stay home and pretend to not worry about her instead.

Cuddy was surprised to wake up in her own bed. It was definitely morning again, but she didn't feel rested at all.

She remembered the clinic, how long the day had felt even with a large chunk lost to anesthesia. Then a confusing image of House leaning over her, of Karen's angry whispers some time late last night, and the door banging closed a few hours before.

With full consciousness came the awareness of her discomfort. Cramping and stiff, she made slow progress to the bathroom, wincing at the traces of blood on the pad when she got there. With the scraps of energy she'd built up overnight, she turned the shower on full blast and let the deliciously warm water cleanse and soothe her body for endless minutes. Coming back into the bedroom, she paused to wonder why a chair from her dining room was by the foot of the bed.

Exhausted but unable to sleep any more, she called the hospital and drafted the ancient Dr. Adler into covering for her for a couple of days. She made vague allusions to the flu and he didn't care enough to pay attention. Cuddy often wondered if she should replace the old fool with a younger, more dynamic deputy. But she didn't want to be watching over her shoulder for a coup, and the strategy had been pretty successful so far. A few days without her ruthless efficiency every so often and everyone in the hospital would always be clamoring to have her back.

Right now, she couldn't contemplate ever feeling like going to work again. The thought of the long, gloomy corridors with the irremovable scent of antiseptic gave her a strange sense of revulsion. Unsure of what to do with her sudden free time, she dug out her most comfortable sweats and an old Michigan t-shirt, settling in front of the TiVo with a cup of peppermint tea she didn't really want.

It took thirteen minutes of daytime television before she was ready to climb the walls in frustration.

Switching off the inane chatter, Cuddy began to prowl the house looking for something to do. She returned the out-of-place chair, cursing Karen for leaving it there. Not that she should even be out of bed, never mind lifting things, but thankfully the house was spotless as ever and there was nothing else for her to waste time on.

With nothing much to do, she returned to the sanctuary of her sheets, noticing once again how big her bed was for just one person. She could have sworn there was a faint scent of House lingering in the room. For someone who liked to look so messy, he was meticulously clean and always smelled like those generic sports shower gels men were so fond of. Crumpling up on the mattress, she hugged an overstuffed pillow to her chest, anything to soothe the ache of missing him.

Of course, that was just a distraction from what she really missed: her child. Reality should have warned her not to consider it a done deal, but it had been impossible not to get excited. The sun was creeping in through the curtains, something Cuddy had pictured countless times with a gurgling baby girl between her and House on the bed. Hating herself for such pointless optimism was only making her feel worse.

Lost in her misery, she had no idea how long she had been lying there when she heard a brief knock on the front door. By the time she had disentangled herself from the bedding, wiped her face and made her way to the front of the house, there was no one at the door. Sighing at the interruption, she turned to slam the door closed but noticed a brown paper bag on the mat.

Bending to retrieve it was awkward, but with care she managed to pick it up without putting too much pressure on her abdomen. Something in the bag smelled delicious, and she realized she couldn't remember the last thing she ate.

Suddenly ravenous, she began tearing at the paper as she made her way to the kitchen. In a few short minutes, she had disposed of the salt beef sandwich, pausing only to get a glass of water halfway through.

When it was gone, her distraction was too. Reality came flooding back, and with it a fresh tinge of cramping. After checking that the bleeding was still light, she helped herself to two of the painkillers her doctor had provided and made her way back to the bedroom.

Despite her overwhelming exhaustion, she was still staring at the clock when night fell.

House showed up at work the next morning feeling hung over, despite having stopped after his second beer last night. His morning Vicodin had left an especially bitter taste in his mouth, and for the first time since he began taking them, he had accompanying nausea. Scowling at his fellows, he deposited his backpack and took off without a word. Foreman sighed at the lack of communication, and continued sifting through case files for something to occupy the team.

Ana Ramirez visibly jumped in her seat when House came crashing through her office door, and he would be lying if he said he didn't derive some small pleasure from the fact.

"You and me, Doc. I need to beat myself up for a few hours, and you seem like the kind of woman who can show me a crappy time. You in?"

With a wistful smile at the paperwork on her desk, Ramirez looked like she was about to refuse. However, curiosity won out and she simply nodded. When she stood up and left for the therapy suite, House knew he had won this round.

He was cursing his own idiocy two hours later. His faded Budweiser t-shirt was soaked through with more moisture than a keg of the stuff. Still, he mused, his sweat probably tasted better.

Ramirez was ticking something on her clipboard with a maniacal grin to equal his own. She had worked him like a dog for two hours and though every sinew in his body was creaking out a message of 'Kill the Bitch,' he felt better than he had in weeks. Best of all for at least 90 of those minutes, the world had consisted only of pain, strain and his doctor barking out instructions as she gave him a full workout.

Grabbing gratefully at the fresh bottle of water she eventually offered, he emptied it and discarded the bottle on the floor with the other three he'd gotten through in the course of the session.

"Ok, Doc. Let's see what else you got."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"That's quite enough for today, _Greg_. You've been skipping appointments all over the place, and frankly, this is more than I should have allowed you to do. If you can move tomorrow, feel free to come back. I'll clear some time at 11."

House shook his head furiously, running a towel over his wet hair.

"This is helping. I need this."

Ramirez stood firm, her pen hovering steadily over the chart.

"You can't overdo it. It's obvious you have some stuff going on, and while I'd suggest for the 200th time that you consult our staff psychiatrist, I know when a battle is lost. Come back tomorrow, and the day after. If you need more, work on the home exercises I gave you. The breathing ones might be especially helpful."

He simply sneered at her refusal, lifting himself from the mat with a melodramatic sigh. Shrugging off her suggestion, he got hold of his cane and took his leave to the shower room.

For the first time since enrolling her most difficult patient, Dr Ramirez was confident he wouldn't blow off the next appointment.

House got his backpack from his office, paging Kutner to meet him in the clinic. His muscles were already protesting his over-exertion, and the clean clothes he'd changed into had a faint air of _eau de sneakers_, having been crumpled in the bottom of his locker for months.

He made laborious progress to the elevators, but even through the additional pain, he could feel the loosening in his thigh muscle. The damn idea might be working a little after all.

He waited impatiently for Kutner in the clinic, swiping red and orange suckers for his stash, and wasn't overjoyed to see Cameron marching towards him from the direction of Cuddy's office.

"House!"

She wasn't in her now habitual scrubs. In fact she had dressed up quite nicely in a school-marmish sort of way.

"Dr. Cameron, what a pleasant surprise! Are you down here to get those _hemorrhoids_ checked out?"

To her credit, she barely flinched when he yelled the word loud enough for most heads in the clinic to swivel in their direction.

"I need to speak to you."

House felt his face contort in disgust at the very idea. Talking only ever meant trouble for him. Until Kutner could drag himself away from whichever Harry Potter fan fiction he was reading, he wouldn't be able to escape.

"How is Dr. Cuddy?"

The shrug he gave was meant as a ploy to cover up the effect of hearing Cuddy's name.

"As I understand it, she's recovering from an outpatient procedure. I thought you had to be admitted for an ass reduction, but the advances in plastic surgery are just amazing, don't you think?"

Cameron folded her arms in a manner that was freakily reminiscent of their absent boss.

"Is everything okay with, you know…?"

To her credit, Cameron understood whatever had crossed his face instantly, and placed a gentle hand on his forearm to stem any reaction that might be forthcoming.

"I'm truly sorry, House. Can you tell her that? Also, I'm keeping an eye on Dr. Adler. He's doing the sleeping at her desk part of the job, I've got the donors and the paperwork covered, okay?"

A grateful nod was the best he could manage. She smiled at him, her eyes already tracking the movement of the clinic staff as she stood with him. Perhaps she was a better Cuddy stand-in than he thought.

Choked up with the thought of Cuddy and how miserable she must be, he was relieved to see Kutner strolling across the lobby. Before the annoyingly perky doctor reached them, House groped frantically for something in his jacket pocket and upon finding it, pressed it into Cameron's hand.

She smiled when she saw the Vicodin bottle with her name on it.

"Wow. I thought that now, of all times, you'd be blurring the edges. Well done."

"Whatever. Now go find yourself something that's cut lower on the top and higher at the bottom. You won't make the hospital any money dressing like a Pilgrim."

Kutner drifted to House's side as soon as he saw him, waiting expectantly for instruction.

"You know Cuddy's address?"

Kutner looked stunned momentarily, but nodded with a guilty expression when he saw that House wasn't going to let the question drop.

"Yeah. I uh, needed to look it up for this…"

House waved impatiently as his protégé began to stammer out an excuse.

"I don't care if you're in love with her or just planning to kill her. Either way, I want you to swing by Penang's and get a bunch of healthy crap and take it to Cuddy's about 7, ok?"

Kutner had gotten used to House's bizarre demands by now, but this was a little weird even for him.

"Uh, are you gonna give me cash for it? Or should I put in an expense claim?"

House couldn't help but laugh a little at the very idea. Kutner rolled his eyes as he realized it was supposed to come out of his own pocket. Satisfied that he had done all he could, House dragged his aching body in the direction of the parking lot.

Sitting in the car, he briefly considered taking a drive over to Cuddy's himself, but knew that she'd tell him when she was ready to see him. Instead he sped off in the direction of his own apartment and the warm bath that was rightfully his.

The long night passed with no call from Cuddy, and when he woke up in the morning after a disrupted sleep, it felt like an elephant had rolled over him in his sleep. Almost crying at the pain, he slipped the regulation dose of two Vicodin down his dry throat, praying to some unknown deity that they would work quickly.

He went through his typical routine of avoiding work, dismissing a couple of promising cases, and sending his minions off to help in other departments care of Cameron. House surprised himself by showing up at the therapy suite just before 11, but if Ramirez was shocked, she hid it well. The demonic woman worked him just as hard as the day before, and he was surprised that he didn't break down and demand more Vicodin when she was done.

He resisted the urge successfully, unsure how he had managed it. In a weird way, it felt like solidarity with Cuddy's suffering. They didn't give out narcotics for heartbreak and he felt he owed her at least some small gesture. Annoyingly, he could feel the improvement even under the agony. Too many years of analyzing his body's every twist and turn left him unable to deny the effect.

The few minutes of comfort in his big yellow chair had somehow turned into a few hours of napping and he woke up feeling better. Better still, it was time for another regulation dose. The urge to pop another couple down after it was ever-present, but he held firm. Being stubborn was occasionally useful.

With considerable difficulty, he again navigated his way from office to the sanctuary of his apartment. What he hadn't expected to find was a pale and lank-haired Lisa Cuddy sitting on his doorstep, shielding her eyes from the weak late-afternoon sun. When she looked up at him, her eyes were an unfamiliar dull gray, a perfect complement to the almost panda-like dark circles under her eyes.

Worst of all, she looked like crap, objectively speaking, and he was still conscious of wanting her.

"If you're here to complain about the delivery service, I didn't ask for customer feedback."

She stared blankly at him for a moment, then mumbled "no" in the quietest voice he'd ever heard her use.

"Well, can I ask to what do I owe the pleasure of your company then?"

He stepped around her, careful not to fall, and she simply stood to follow him without answering.

House led her into the apartment, trying not to replay the nights they'd come stumbling through that door, kissing frantically, shedding clothes as soon as they were clear of the street. This time she stood forlornly in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around herself in some sort of inadequate hug.

"Cuddy?"

She was startled at his voice, almost as if she had forgotten he was there.

"I, uh, I came here to see you. I can't seem to… Well I've been trying, but I can't sleep," she finished somewhat lamely.

House regarded her warily, unsure of what she wanted.

"So prescribe yourself some Zopiclone and get someone to grab a box from the pharmacy."

She put a hand on his sofa to steady herself, the effort of standing clearly taking its toll.

"Didn't work. I slept for 20 minutes and woke up with a mouth tasting of tin. I need something stronger."

"Like what?"

"Like whatever you have. I just need to not to feel all this crap for a few hours."

She turned to him fully, her expression wan and lost. "House, can you help me, please? Let me sleep before I collapse, please? Give me something to make it all go away. "

That scared the shit out of him. Cuddy never said 'please', not to him. Perhaps once or twice, sarcastically at best. But the fact that she was even asking him for help was enough to have him expecting the end of days.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her shoulders sagged with relief at that, and House felt a fresh rush of concern.

"I'll make a deal with you. Get in my bed, I'll heat up some milk and see what goodies I have in my secret stash. Sound good?"

She must have been pretty far gone for sleeping in his bed, his apartment to be anything other than unacceptable. With one final look at him, she stepped past him and down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Running a hand through his still-damp hair, House exhaled harshly.

What the hell was he going to do?


	13. Chapter 13

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 13

"**There is a shortage in the blood supply**

**But there is no shortage of blood**

**The way I feel about you baby**

**Can't explain it,**

**You got the best of my love."**

"International Small Arms Traffic Blues", The Mountain Goats

* * *

House stood helplessly in the kitchen doorway, the pots and utensils he'd owned for almost 15 years suddenly foreign to him. Cuddy had shuffled off his bedroom without protest, the hems of her oversized sweatpants beating out a rough tattoo that marked her slow progress.

Reluctantly. he made his way to the fridge and sniffed cautiously at the milk. Surprisingly, it was still fresh, and so he splashed some carelessly into the nearest clean mug. With a heavy heart, he put the drink in the microwave to heat and reached for the makeshift first aid box he now kept stashed behind the cereal boxes.

Now done, he made his own journey to the sanctuary of his bedroom, hoping it was as comforting to Cuddy as it usually was for him. He entered the semi-dark room to see her slumped listlessly near the bottom of his mattress, her posture somewhere between sitting and lying down, but neither one or the other. She really was in a bad way, though that was to be expected.

Yeah, he thought to himself, was she really going to be any other way?

Dealing with situations like this made him feel the familiar panic of rising in his throat. These feelings of inadequacy when it came to emotions left him feeling more crippled than his leg ever had.

With nothing more eloquent than a grunt, he announced his presence and shoved the hot mug in her general direction. She showed no reaction, except for a slight wince when she touched the hot surface.

Fumbling in his pocket, he offered her two small white pills and she took them without a second glance.

Reality kicked in eventually, and she lifted her head to look at him with those eyes that broke his heart with every blink. Seeing her like this was torture.

"These aren't Vicodin?"

It seemed like a question, but her voice was almost entirely flat.

"No, but they'll do the trick. I garnished your drink as well, so you'll be sleeping like a… Well, you'll be out like a light soon enough."

Nice slip of the tongue, asshole.

Thankfully, she seemed too out of it to notice.

With a shrug, she accepted his explanation. Frowning at the nuclear temperature of the milk he'd given her, Cuddy blew half-heartedly to cool it. After a long 30 seconds or so, she knocked the pills back, washing them down with a brave gulp of the hot liquid.

When she'd drained the mug of its contents, House took it from her and shoved it carelessly on his already crowded nightstand. At a loss for anything vaguely reassuring to say, he placed a firm hand on Cuddy's shoulder which she took as permission to lie down. He yanked at the sheets, entangling her as much as covering her. She batted his meddling hands away and made a cocoon for herself, safe and secure once more on "her" side of the bed.

"I'm gonna take a shower. Need anything?"

She grunted softly in reply, sleep already reaching across the waking barriers to claim her. He clicked the lamp off and made slow, aching progress to the bathroom, his overworked muscles already cramping.

He spent far longer than usual under the pounding spray, letting the force and heat soothe his broken body.

The moisture on his face could only be from the shower, because damn it, he wasn't going to cry about all this shit twice.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he was dressed in his last clean pair of pajama bottoms. The steam had left his skin clammy even after scrubbing with the towel. He did feel better though, with previously complaining body parts now calming down to something like their usual whimpers of pain.

The plan was simple: get a blanket and crash out on the sofa. Of course, he had to check on Cuddy first, make sure the noise from the bathroom hadn't disturbed her. So he crept into the bedroom as quietly as he could, forsaking his cane for extra discretion.

When he sat next to her on the bed, it was simply to make sure that she was breathing properly. He didn't want to switch on the light and risk her wrath if she wasn't fully asleep yet. The nights they'd spent together—so many of them punctuated by his bouts of insomnia—meant that he knew the difference in the way she breathed while sleeping.

He hadn't expected the wave of exhaustion that rolled up and smacked him in the face. Suddenly his limbs felt like lead and all he could think about was slipping under the covers and having a warm body there with him again.

In the face of that kind of temptation, he was powerless to resist.

The limited dose of Vicodin he'd taken in the bathroom was beginning to take effect. The arm that snaked out to pull Cuddy close to him was guided by pure reflex, and he'd surrendered to sleepbefore he could do anything about it.

* * *

Typically, his brain refused to get him anything like the full eight hours. Just before dawn he rolled over for the first of his daily dose and dry-swallowed before resuming his position spooned behind Cuddy. He saw that she was still lost in the depths of REM sleep when he leaned over her, her eyelids flickering slightly and her breathing deep and regular.

His hand grazed her abdomen through the soft cotton of her t-shirt. It was still distended, a far cry from the rock-hard abs she'd been so careful about before the pregnancy. But the solidity of the baby bump was already beginning to fade. He jumped slightly when she mumbled something in her sleep and squirmed back against him, seeking out the heat and comfort of his body unconsciously.

Before long, the weak sunlight had permeated the curtains and it was enough to rouse Cuddy from slumber. House held his breath as he awaited her realization of the situation, but after a few moments she simply relaxed back into the pillows, her hand seeking out his where it was resting on her hip.

"Morning."

The hoarseness of his own voice surprised him. It sounded deafening in the stillness of his bedroom.

"Hey. Thanks for letting me stay."

He shrugged, hoping she would understand the gesture though she couldn't see it.

Feeling uncomfortable with the sudden return to intimacy, House peeled himself away and crawled out of bed with customary difficulty.

"Cripples get dibs on the bathroom. Then it's all yours."

She was looking at him curiously, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips as she took in his shirtless state and messy bedhead. When she nodded, he limped gratefully out of the room.

Morning ablutions taken care of, he decided to run her a bath. Tipping some shower gel in as makeshift bubble bath, he stepped out into the bedroom to grab some clean towels.

It shouldn't have surprised him that she was gone.

Still hurt like a bitch though.

* * *

He made a point of being late to work, and he caught her glare across the main reception desk as he pushed past nurses and patients on his way to the elevator. It was difficult not to stare, not after all these years of doing so as obviously as possible. House was satisfied with the transformation. Gone was the bag lady ensemble, replaced with one of her sterner black suits, loose-fitting to keep her body shape ambiguous. The makeup had been flawless, her hair twisted up perhaps a little too severely. To his practiced eye, none of it did quite enough to conceal the sadness and weariness underneath, but it was enough for the rest of the world.

Maybe now he could stop worrying about her, since she clearly had her defense shields intact once more.

Waiting for the world's slowest elevator, he risked a glance back over his shoulder and caught her quietly haranguing a nurse who looked flustered to suddenly have an effective boss back. He almost smiled at the sight, but caught himself in time.

House tried his best, but couldn't manage to avoid her for even one day. It had been stupid to put his latest patient in for open-heart surgery without Cuddy's consent, and predictably he was paged to her office before the surgeons could even begin washing their hands.

Affecting his most inconvenienced expression, he swept into her office as though nothing had ever happened between them. He accepted his lecture with something approaching good grace and made faces while she called Foreman and told him to start some less invasive procedure.

Watching for signs of cracks in her composure, for once House couldn't care less about the battle, or solving the puzzle for that matter. He'd be right and the man would live, or he'd be wrong for a while until the right answer showed up.

She hung up the phone and made to dismiss him. That he didn't feel like accepting.

"You bailed on me this morning. Haven't done that since we first started sleeping together, back when you were still ashamed of me."

Cuddy didn't look impressed by his attempt at light-hearted.

"I had to get ready for work. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm sure you'll live."

He turned to leave, but was stopped by a question.

"What did you give me last night? I feel fine this morning, I thought I'd be groggy at least."

House sighed, answering without turning around.

"Honestly? Some hot milk and an anti-histamine. Nowhere near enough to make you drowsy, but you were far enough gone not to look that closely."

Without her customary killer heels, he didn't know she was right behind him until it was too late and she had a firm grip on his elbow. Forced to turn, he stumbled a little to face her.

"You tricked me? I was vulnerable, I was a mess, and you tricked me?"

House tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

"You'd rather I got you hooked on something? Made you think the only way you'd sleep was with a body full of chemicals? I may do that to myself, but give me some credit for not dragging everyone else down with me. Or is this about me making everyone else worse for knowing me? That seems to be your opinion most of the time."

He watched the rage ebb away from her, making her seem five inches shorter in the process. Her grip on his arm loosened as his words hit home.

"I don't know, I don't know what I wanted."

The anguish in her body language drove him to reach out for her with his free hand. Trying to be careful, he laid the hand on her shoulder and stroked the collarbone gently with his thumb.

"You didn't want to be alone. It's hardly deviant behavior. And hey, you got some sleep, which is all that matters."

She pulled away from the gentle contact, tears threatening to spill over.

"It won't happen again, I'm sorry."

He tried in vain to catch her eye.

"I thought we'd established I have no problem with you winding up in my bed?"

She shrugged, looking anywhere but at him, the surface of her desk suddenly engrossing.

"I can't do this. I can't go through it again. We tried, maybe too hard, but I can't set myself up to get hurt anymore."

The words landed like a kidney punch, explosive and sickening at the same time. There were probably a hundred arguments he could make, turn his persuasive charms on changing her mind.

Instead, he walked out of her office without looking back.


	14. Chapter 14

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 14

"**The reception's gotten fuzzy**

**The delicate balance has shifted**

**Put on your gloves and your black pumps**

**Let's pretend the fog has lifted."**

"_Dilaudid_", The Mountain Goats

Taub was getting more and more frustrated at House's complete inattention. Three times he had tried to explain his theory about sarcoidosis and each time he'd been distracted by House pacing rapidly towards the conference room door, only to turn sharply and take a seat. Thirteen and Foreman rolled their eyes at House's customary ignorance, and Kutner settled for agreeing loudly with Taub's points in a vain bid to get attention focused back on the differential.

After listening just long enough to justify calling Taub an idiot, House succeeded in opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He was aware that he must look a little strange to the assembled fellows, but freaking them out a little was a quick and easy way of keeping them in line. The fact that he was genuinely apprehensive about his little walk along the hall was none of their business; let them keep guessing.

He could feel their eyes on him as he walked the short distance to Wilson's office, making it almost a relief to knock on the door. The act of knocking made the whole visit slightly surreal, and was probably why Wilson said "Come in" so readily.

Wilson certainly didn't look happy to see House, his right hand fluttering automatically to the fading bruise on his jaw.

"I expect you think I'm here to apologize."

To his credit, Wilson snorted at the very idea.

"Well, it's possible that I overreacted. Pouring water over your head may have been slightly more appropriate. But anyway, it's not like I broke your jaw. Though that might have helped you shed those last few bereavement pounds you've been carrying."

House held his breath as he waited to see how that one would land.

There it was, the waving finger of mock annoyance. Wilson was going to forgive him any second…now.

"Bereavement weight? Nice. I thought you'd go with comfort eating over having lost you to Cuddy, but I understand you don't want to bring up your failed relationship. Oh, oops. Did I just…? How silly of me."

With a sigh of relief, House dropped gracelessly into the patient chair. Wilson closed the file he'd been working on and gave House his full attention.

"So, speaking of failed relationships, how is Cuddy? She's keeping everyone at arm's length since she came back last week."

House shrugged, his default response to anything encroaching on emotional ground. He picked at an imaginary piece on lint on his pants and avoided Wilson's too-intense stare. a

"She's Cuddy, made of steel. Probably crying into her pillow every night, but you won't know it while she's here."

It was uncomfortable to talk about her, every word a reminder of how she'd rejected him again.

"And you two are definitely over? No way you can work things out?"

He leaned back in the chair, as though a few inches would make Wilson's question any less painful.

"Yup, done and dusted. It wasn't bad while it lasted. No biggie."

With some struggle, House met Wilson's inquisitive eyes with his best fake nonchalance. Wilson smiled broadly, a little too broadly for House's liking. Sensing trouble, he shifted uneasily in the ugly plastic chair.

"Well, sorry it didn't work out. You won't mind if I ask her out after all? I mean, I'd wait for a decent interval, give her time to…"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Snapping out a response wasn't really the best way of making it sound convincing.

"Great. I'll give it a couple of weeks and try then. Or maybe I should lay the groundwork now, while she's all needy and vulnerable."

House kept his cool, just barely, his grip on the handle of his cane approaching Hulk-like intensity.

"Whatever you think is best. Go for it."

The words were as hollow as the space where his thigh muscle used to be.

"Great. In fact, I might give Stacy a call too. Think she'd be up for a threesome?"

The swish and crack of cane meeting desk made Wilson jump.

"You think you're funny?"

Wilson pondered the question while secretly flexing his calf muscles, ready to jump backwards at the first sign of attack.

"Kind of, yeah. I mean, you're sitting there trying to pretend not to give a shit while almost having a coronary over the idea of me even talking to Cuddy, never mind bedding her."

Opening his mouth to protest, House found himself embarrassingly short of counter-arguments.

"Fine. So I don't want you hitting a home run in the same park. Hardly unreasonable."

Wilson winced slightly at the less than romantic allusion.

"Why are you so afraid to be happy? You waged war over a carpet, broke into a therapist's office to spy on Stacy. You don't just give up and accept a crappy decision. That's not your MO."

House sneered at the reminder of his past exploits. Did Wilson really need to have such crystal clear memories of every little thing he'd done?

"You're saying I should annoy her into taking me back?"

Wilson nodded enthusiastically.

"Why change the habit of a lifetime and start being reasonable now? It may be incredibly screwed up, but being with Cuddy has been good for you. It's totally unfair what happened to you two, but that doesn't mean you should let everything fall apart.

"And don't say you have no choice. You've convinced Cuddy to let you perform autopsies on living children, for God's sake. This should be easy in comparison. You have to give her time to heal, but don't give up on her. What I'm saying is, for once in your miserable life, use your stubbornness for good instead of evil."

Defeated and deflated. House closed his eyes for a moment and considered Wilson's points. Maybe the smug bastard was right after all.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

A month in hospital time was practically an Ice Age; House and Cuddy had quickly become old news. The latest buzz was about an apparent breakup between Drs. Cameron and Chase, speculation running rampant along hallways and in hushed stairwell conversations.

House had been very careful to bide his time. For Cuddy's first few days back, he had shown up to about half of his clinic duty and managed not to directly compromise a patient's life for the sake of a cool diagnosis. It was impossible to maintain though; countless years of misbehavior left meant he gradually resumed his old ways sooner rather than later.

She seemed surprisingly okay with that, as though the normalcy was helping. He hadn't stumbled across her crying in clinic rooms or caught her staring wistfully at babies in the NICU. Though he mocked her wardrobe and unfortunate habit of letting him run amok at times, she really was a consummate professional most of the time.

He checked one last time that she was still in her office, her outline visible in the early evening shadows as he gazed across the clinic. With more urgency that he was usually capable of, he headed to the parking lot and his waiting motorcycle.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been a particularly successful afternoon for Lisa Cuddy, and when she gathered her belongings to leave, she did so with a lightness in her heart that had been missing for the past six weeks or so.

Funding was all but secured for a new psychiatric ward, with positive press releases printed and waiting to be issued. Even the budget had been more manageable than usual, prudence finally spreading throughout the hospital's spending habits.

It was warm for spring, the weak evening light still enough to cheer her slightly as she strode out towards the exit. As she approached the nurses' station she caught Wilson's eye across the lobby. He slowed down and waited for her to catch up with him, walking her out into the parking lot as he so often did.

"Anything planned for this evening?"

His sudden keen interest was a little unsettling, but Cuddy shrugged it off with a weak line about the Cabernet awaiting her at home.

"Well, you have fun. Oh, I heard about Cameron by the way, good call."

Cuddy smiled warmly at the recognition. Earlier that morning she had formally offered Cameron the position of Deputy Administrator, subject to board approval. Dr. Adler was content to get lost in the university's halls once more, stepping aside with no fuss at all.

"It was time I got someone a little more engaged to fill in for me. I'm mostly sure I can trust Cameron not to stage a coup."

He returned her smile at that, and not for the first time Cuddy found herself wondering if Wilson might just have a soft spot for the head of the ER.

"I should really get going. That wine isn't going to drink itself."

Wilson placed a gentle hand on her forearm, the unexpected contact causing her to gasp slightly.

"It's so nice to see you smile again Lisa. It would be even better to see you truly happy. Goodnight."

The sudden sweetness from Wilson took her by surprise, but she shrugged it off and drove home without giving it any further attention.

When she saw House sprawled out on her porch, everything suddenly made sense.

Not that she acknowledged his presence, taking her time to put the car in the garage and collect her things from the trunk. Bringing work home with her was nothing new, and she wasn't going to let an uninvited guest deter her.

It seemed to annoy him when she stepped over his outstretched legs and marched into the house without saying a word. True to form, he followed through the front door a few moments later. He caught up with her in the kitchen, and the determined expression on his face made her heart sink just a fraction.

"Let me guess, you've found an even more dangerous way of testing your patient's brain? Maybe pouring sambuca on it and setting it on fire just to test the response?"

He ran his fingers through the thinning hair on his head and offered her one of his more cheeky grins.

"My patient is being successfully treated for neurosyphillis, but thanks for the tip. I'll be able to tell my next attorney that I was acting on your instructions."

Cuddy sighed heavily and reached for a wineglass. House's pronounced tut of dissatisfaction prompted her to retrieve a second one before pouring generous quantities of glossy red wine.

"Why are you here, House?"

She made no attempt to hide her weariness, but didn't dare meet his eye.

"I brought you a present."

"If it's a subpoena, I'm not…"

He interrupted her complaint by throwing a crumpled paper bag at her. Curiosity piqued, she reached carefully inside and recovered something soft. Pulling it out, she was confused to see a faded black t-shirt.

Unfolding it, she saw the familiar red tongue logo.

"A Rolling Stones shirt? One that smells of beer and sweat?"

Her face crumpled in mild disgust as she made the last observation.

"Not just any shirt. The original '78 tour shirt."

Her first instinct had been to shove the offending item back in the bag and throw it at his head, but the explanation gave her pause, rubbing the thin cotton between her fingers.

"The same t-shirt that you said you'd kill me if I ever touched it?'

House's nod was slow, measured.

"And now you want me to, what, do your laundry?"

"It's a gesture."

"Of insanity?"

"Of commitment. I'm saying I want what we had back. It was…surprisingly tolerable, when you stopped whining all the time anyway. "

Cuddy stepped back, uncomfortable with their proximity.

"Don't you remember us talking about this? It wouldn't work, we've caused each other enough pain."

"We cause each other pain regardless. At least this way we were getting the upside too."

Damn, but he was hard to argue with when he was so logical. Taking a hearty swig of wine, Cuddy placed the glass carefully on the kitchen counter, freeing her left hand to push her hair back off her face.

"I'm no good at apologies, but I want you to know I didn't mean to hurt you with some of that stuff I said. And I want us to get back to ripping each other's clothes off on a daily basis."

"Including this shirt?"

Cuddy dangled the t-shirt from her index finger, causing House to gulp nervously.

"I told you, I'm giving it to you. Wash it, burn it, turn it into a nightshirt, it's entirely up to you. Just say that you'll give in to your continuing desire to jump me."

House moved closer, making her huge kitchen seem suddenly claustrophobic. Truthfully, she was overwhelmed. Seeing him like this in her home after so long, his strange gift, Wilson's bizarre encouragement, the fresh memories of loss and suffering were all conspiring to make her light-headed.

Forcing herself to concentrate, she raised a hand of warning to stop House coming any closer.

Her mind was made up.


	15. Chapter 15

There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 15

"**Sing for the flames that will rip through here**

**And the smoke that will carry us away**

**Yeah, sing for the damage we've done**

**And the worse things that we'll do.**"

"_Alpha Rats' Nest_", The Mountain Goats

* * *

House stared helplessly at the slender hand in front of him. He remained frozen in place, his best attempt at reconciliation hanging in the air between them. Had he overplayed it? Or should he have just stormed in, kissed the hell out of her and worried about the consequences (or serious bodily injury) later?

She looked beautiful in the soft light of her kitchen. Though she could cook a grand total of three dishes, the room was laid out in a homey style with enough porcelain and metal equipment to keep Martha Stewart busy for a month. He really did love that about her, that she never went into anything half-heartedly. That was the Cuddy who had grabbed his attention back in Michigan, though admittedly the great rack and tight little ass had been more of a priority.

Cuddy flexed her outstretched fingers, forming a fist and then pointing firmly at him with the index finger. Every detail of her movements seemed like suspended animation to him; he was hypnotized by her. He almost felt as though he could read her thoughts as he watched her struggle to vocalize them. But it was like bad radio reception in a language he didn't understand, and so he was stuck holding his breath and praying she wasn't about to break his heart all over again.

"It would be a stupid idea."

Like a swift kick to the solar plexus, the peaceful moments of staring at her and hoping began to dissolve in an instant. He couldn't control the dismay that must have swept across his face. She frowned slightly and continued, not stepping back, not moving closer.

"But it's all been a stupid idea. Stupid, painful but exciting and fun too. I might just have crossed the border into insanity, but I'm tired of resisting you."

It had been 23 years since his last drunken attempt at a cartwheel. Then, it had been for a stupid dare, but in that moment he would gladly have risked life and limb to express the sudden surge of happiness, of success that flooded through him. Luckily, that surge was accompanied by a timely pang from his thigh and so he opted not to undo the past six weeks of grueling physical therapy for one moment of madness.

So he did the next best thing and implemented what had originally been Plan B: he closed the last inches between them, took her face gently in his hands and proceeded to kiss her like his life depended on it.

In some ways, it probably did.

Cuddy almost collapsed as his lips first met hers. There was a split-second of hesitation in his kiss, as though he expected her to pull away, but it immediately gave way to almost bruising intensity. His tongue pressed forcefully into her mouth, and she moaned as she parted her lips to allow it.

It was heady, it was passionate and damn, it was turning her on.

The t-shirt of alleged commitment fell to the floor as she grabbed blindly at the shirt he was wearing. His hands were already tugging impatiently at her top, and when they broke contact for a moment, the two offending items were roughly pulled over their respective heads. When the kiss resumed it had the additional catalyst of his naked chest and torso pressed against her, and Cuddy knew that nothing short of a nuclear war was going to stop this now.

She tried to talk between kisses, navigating clumsily backwards through the kitchen, dragging him with her.

"You need to…" Oh God, he was doing that thing where he bit her lower lip and it was getting so difficult to _think_.

"You need to promise me you won't hurt me that way again. _Ohhhh_…. Those things you said…"

When he responded it was hard to make out the words as he nuzzled at her neck.

"Can't promise that. Still…mmm… me."

Cuddy dug her nails into his shoulders at that, and he looked up expectantly from where he had most likely given her a pretty noticeable hickey. For a moment she contemplated calling it off, denying herself the sex that seemed pretty much inevitable.

Then she realized that she was asking something of him that they'd never had before. The sarcasm and bitchiness hadn't abated when they first slept together. If anything it had been adapted into a form of foreplay. Whereas in the past they'd simply upset each other and walked off to sulk, being together meant make-up sex, which was quite possibly one of her favorite varieties.

Screw it.

When she kissed him, she also realized that no way in hell were they going to hold out all the way to the bedroom, and so she reached for his fly right away. Her skirt was shoved up over her hips, and House was already pulling insistently at her panties as he backed her up against the dining table.

Somehow, in a matter of seconds they were divested of all clothing, the greed in his eyes when she finally undid her bra sent a shiver down her spine. It had been almost easy to forget how sexy it was to be wanted like that, to feel the full force of his intensity focused on her.

As he hoisted her up onto the smooth mahogany surface, she muttered concern about his leg but he waved it off. She noted that he did seem to be standing more comfortably but rational thoughts evaporated as his mouth descended on her right nipple, the warmth and wetness of his circling tongue short-circuiting any remaining coherent thought.

She moaned her whole-hearted approval as she ran gentle fingers through his thinning hair, another reminder that they were getting older, that they'd wasted so much time apart. It would have been ludicrous to assume they could have been happy together over the past 20 years, but the nagging sense of time running out came naturally with someone who flirted with destruction as often as House did.

It didn't matter anymore; he was there, and so was she. His fingers sought out the slick wetness between her thighs and his muttered curses on discovering exactly how much she wanted him only escalated the desperate need she felt for him in that moment.

The sudden tenderness was unexpected though quite lovely, but it wasn't what she wanted. Pulling roughly at his hair, she made him face her again.

"Don't you dare treat me like a piece of porcelain. I'm not going to break."

He grinned lasciviously, a familiar sight, but she stopped analyzing his expression when he guided his hard cock swiftly inside her, the sudden thrust causing her to let a grateful hissing 'yes' to escape her lips.

And then a blur.

A delicious blur of heat and strength and him being suddenly real again after all those painful weeks of abstract and when orgasm finally announced itself, loudly and overwhelmingly, tears appeared briefly in her eyes.

Her ankles were hooked over his shoulders, she realized as she regained coherence, perspective. He was partially slumped over her, pressing insistent kisses along her calf as he struggled to remain standing. It was ridiculous, slightly uncomfortable and probably pretty stupid.

It was them.

Detangling took more coordination and sense than either possessed, but eventually they achieved freedom from her furniture and stumbled on mutually weaker legs towards her bedroom.

Cuddy couldn't formulate much of a sentence until their naked bodies were safe from the evening chill under her sheets. Her left hand rested lightly on his chest, a conscious and unconscious reminder that he was back.

He was watching her with his customary intensity, quiet for once but she could feel the furious workings of his mind across the pillows. No doubt House was still trying to pick a winner from the competing words of sarcasm, curiosity and outright rudeness.

"That's how you tell a guy no? It was particularly convincing when you started thrusting your hips at me like that. Was that the kind of indifference you were going for?"

Damn, he'd combined all three. Cuddy sighed at the thought of managing a barrage of House's own brand of pillow talk.

"If we can't keep away from each other, there seemed little point in denying ourselves pleasure. We can't all be masochists, you know."

He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Seriously, Cuddy. We should keep doing this. We're good at this, when we're not busy sucking at it. And I'm sorry for…stuff. Wait, I said that already. And since I got laid, I'm pretty sure I don't have to be nice to you any more."

Her fingernails pressed a friendly but sharp reminder into his pectoral muscles.

"It wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to me."

House seemed to consider the idea, shrugging non-committally.

"We'll see. You want to have a conversation about how we forgot to use protection, again?"

"Not overly, no."

He accepted her refusal first time, apparently too sated for their usual sparring matches.

"I meant it, with the t-shirt. I don't want to mess this up again, though I guarantee you I will. Constantly, and in a variety of horrifying ways. None of which changes the fact that I love you."

Damn, that did it. Her tear-ducts committed the ultimate betrayal and reacted violently to his words, the first time she'd heard him say them outside of hushed whispers in the throes of passion, unconscious comments that she'd never taken seriously.

Choking back a sob, she forced out a response.

"Yeah, you're okay too."

That prompted a smile from him, as light and as genuine as she'd seen from him in months. He quickly replaced it with mock-disgust as he swept her last few tears away with a calloused thumb.

He looked her directly in the eye and asked the one thing she'd never expected.

"You think we should get married?"

She laughed.

Not the awkward, uncomfortable laugh she'd used so often when he said something that had confused her, nor the mirthless one she reserved for discovering she was once again the victim of one of his pranks.

No, for the first time since their fight, since the horrible doctor's appointment and all the painful, colorless days, Lisa Cuddy laughed and truly meant it.

She was weak from lack of oxygen when her almost hysterical giggles subsided. To his credit, House didn't look particularly wounded by her less than considerate reaction. He was probably expecting it anyway.

"Good one, House. Now why don't we talk about something real – like the fact that you're regaining some use of your leg? Upping the Vicodin? Or have you finally upgraded to heroin?"

"Wouldn't be able to get it up _quite so impressively_ if I had, would I?"

His eyebrows waggled suggestively, and she was reminded quite forcefully of why she was crazy about him.

"Princeton's favorite lady-lover has been using all her secret tricks on me. As soon as I called it punishment, she was all over me. I think I might have turned her on you know."

Cuddy smacked him lightly, but all the diversity training in the world would have no effect on him. Another fact she'd learned to accept.

"I don't care if she ties you up and does the reverse cowgirl on you. If it works, it's a good thing."

Of course, his eyes widened at that. He kissed her firmly, reigniting the low heat that had kept simmering inside her.

He pulled away and punched her overstuffed pillow into submission.

"If you want to go again, you nymphomaniac, you're going to have to let me rest a little while first. I'm not twenty anymore."

Cuddy kissed him affectionately on the forehead.

"You get your beauty sleep, old timer. I'm going to clean up a little."

House smiled sleepily, eyelids already fluttering closed. She eased herself from the easy embrace they'd fallen into and pulled her robe from the bottom of the bed to cover her.

"Hey, what happened to all chores being performed naked? That was definitely a rule. I love rules, after all. Couldn't bear to see one broken."

Cuddy snorted at his hypocrisy, and threw a discarded cushion at his almost-unconscious head.

Padding lightly through the familiar rooms of her house, she surveyed the damage in the dining area. Clothes everywhere, including her bra hooked over the light fitting. Not to mention that the table itself would need cleaning before the cleaning lady arrived in the morning with her silently judgmental expressions.

Gathering up the clothes, she heard something drop onto the hardwood floor. Bending to collect the fallen item, she literally forgot to breathe for a moment when she saw what had undoubtedly fallen from House's pocket.

Pale blue. Velvet. A couple of inches square.

Perhaps House hadn't been kidding after all.


End file.
